Needs
by Kavi Leighanna
Summary: Part 10 - Despite the rocky beginning, it's always led to this. To them. Caskett smut.
1. Needs

**Needs**

It had been months since their first night.

The factors that let him into her bed had been washed away in a stem of other hot nights, sometimes because she needed the release, sometimes because he just needed her. It wasn't a relationship. They didn't go on dates, hold hands, or buy each other gifts, just because. He didn't cook her dinner and she didn't dress to impress. It wasn't their way of thinking.

Or, at least, it wasn't hers.

It is one of those nights, one where she calls him after dinner, though if she'd waited another half an hour he'd have already been on the way. Will's in town for a case and she's feeling shaken by his presence and the knowledge that she can't fall into that again. Yet - and he already knows this - Will reminds her that she's still alone and though she made the right choice at the time, every time he floats into her life, he's that reminder of something she's lost. She's never been good with loss.

He doesn't hesitate and their conversation isn't long. Before either of them can really blink he's at her front door. She doesn't hesitate in letting him in, nor does she waste time on being polite or small talk. Instead, the minute the door is closed and safely locked she's on him, half way through unbuttoning his shirt by the time he manages to reverse their position and press her to the wall. The soft moan it draws rattles his control and his hand is in her hair, tilting her head to get the right angle. This time the moan reverberates in his chest as she boosts herself against his body, a leg hitching around his hip.

He's actually thankful she's not wearing a blouse because it's so much faster to whip the t-shirt over her head and drop it to the side then it would be to gather the dexterity he'd need to deal with buttons. As it is, his fingers are sliding almost awkwardly against the clasp of her bra at her back because her fingertips are teasing at his waistband and his head is transported back to the last time they did this and the way she'd dropped to her knees the minute her door had closed.

Finally the clasp slides open and she lets the garment slide down her arms to fall between their bodies. He lifts her ass, boosting her up against the door so he can have uninhibited access to the skin of her neck and breasts. She squeaks, as she does every time he hoists her up, as if she forgets that he's actually quite strong. But then her head fogs as he attacks her neck and chest with every means at his disposal. If his mouth isn't at her neck, it's torturing a nipple while his free hand slides over her other breast in a feather touch. One hand is still palming her ass, even though her legs alone could probably hold her up with the strength she's using to clench them around his hips. He doesn't feel it. He's too wrapped up in her scent and the sheen of salty sweat that's forming on her skin.

Her hips are rocking against his and since this night is about her, he shifts her, reluctantly lowering her so he can wedge a knee between her thighs. Then, with her weight half supposed by his leg, half supported by her feet, he places his hands on her hips and starts to rock her against his denim-clad thigh. She lets out a breathy moan and he watches her eyes slide closed as pleasure washes over her features. Her bliss heightens his arousal and one of his hands reaches up to tweak her breast, hoping this particular build up won't last long.

He's not disappointed.

She lets out a small whimper as her body stiffens, and he can't help but chuckle. Even here, the one place where no one would fault her for losing control, she doesn't cry out her release. Not that she hasn't before, and he's taken great pleasure in coaxing as many sounds out of her as he can. He sees it as a challenge, and is once again presented the opportunity. His thoughts are interrupted but her nimble hand cupping him through his jeans. Her green eyes are still slightly glazed from her climax and he groans.

"I get myself into so much trouble with you," he moans, and it's the first thing either of them has said since their phone conversation. He grasps her wrist, wrapping her arms around his neck. Then he's lifting her, kissing her and carrying her to her bedroom. He lays her out on her bed and makes quick work of her belt and pants, sliding them off quickly. He lets her remove his shirt, but his pants are too far out of her reach as his mouth starts to dance over her stomach and hipbones, just above the line of her underwear. Her breathing is heavy in the dark room and he rests his forehead just under her belly button.

"I can smell you," he growls and her hips buck up against the warm breath that fans across her skin. He takes that as his cue and, starting at her knees, slowly slides his hand up the soft skin of her thighs. His other hand stays on her knee, holding her open to him. He can't help his grin as she bites her lip instead of making a sound when his hand trails along the crease of her thigh, following the line of her underwear. He knows she's trying to anticipate what comes next. It's his second favourite game to play here, second only to drawing out the uninhibited woman from her cocoon of control. He takes great pride in being able to surprise her, and it's his greatest weapon in his goal to make her cry out.

He smiles slyly before rearing away from her body and leaning up to press his mouth to hers at the same time he slips his fingers under the last piece of cotton covering her and into her. He's more awed than surprised when she immediately clenches around the invasion, her head pushing back into the pillows as she chokes on her breath. She's beautiful, though he never tells her here. He doesn't want to cheapen a sentiment he truly believes outside the bedroom and instead settles on whispering, "You're so sexy."

There's no verbal acknowledgement of the compliment, just her body pushing against his fingers and he grins, kissing her again as he starts to move them. He holds her hip when she starts to rock with the movement of his fingers, listening carefully to the rise and fall of her breath. His fingers speed and slow, holding her on the edge of climax until she's glaring up at him. His grin is unrepentant as he enjoys her groan of loss as he withdraws his fingers. It takes him seconds to remove her underwear and before she can blink his fingers are in her and his mouth is on her and she's arching into the sheets.

"Rick!"

There it is. He's grinning in triumph this time as he makes his way back up to her mouth, one hand supporting him over her while the other cups her hip. She relaxes slowly into the sheets as they kiss until she's impatient again. She makes quick work of his belt and jeans, shoving them down with his boxers. He loves her impatient and seconds later she's sliding a condom over his length and he's sliding into her heat. This part never gets old and he breathes heavily against her neck to stop the onslaught of _everything_ pressing in on him.

She moves first, tilting her hips to take him deeper and he can't hold back any longer. His body moved almost without the conscious permission of his brain as he supports his weight above her. There is nothing in the world that beats _this_. As much as he loves to watch her, he loves being on top because, in some twisted way, he feels like he's protecting her. It's not a feeling he gets often because she's not the type of woman that needs protecting, but he likes the feeling nonetheless. Her nails dig into his shoulders and her head tilts back and he _knows_ she's close again. He pressed light kisses to her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, anywhere he can reach. They're gentle kisses, a direct contradiction to the speed he's moving in and out of her wet heat.

She's so close, _so close, _and he slides one hand beneath her neck, the other under her back. Her hips tilt with the guidance of his hands and her gasp lets him know he's hitting the right spot. He smiles against her skin and knows she doesn't even realize she's almost whining in the back of her throat. But he doesn't care, because once again, he's brought her to that brink and he's been here before. He pulls out almost all the way and slams back into her at just the right angle. She cries out and her inner muscles flutter and she feels so good around him that it only takes a few more thrusts before he's joining her on the ride.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around him when he comes back to himself, and he presses a kiss to the side of her neck. Her hands slide over his shoulders, resting tentatively on his upper arms and he mentally sighs. He knows what comes next. So he's utterly surprise when he goes to move and her hands tighten on his biceps. He looks down at her, confusion clouding his eyes. She's biting her lip and _he_ wants to be the one doing such a thing. Instead, he relaxes against her, nuzzling the side of her neck softly as his forehead comes to rest on the pillow again. Her hands slide up and down his upper arms as her head bends forward to rest on his warm shoulder.

Eventually, and he wonders if she knew it would happen, his curiosity gets the better of him. "Kate?" Because he can't call her anything but when they're this intimately entwined.

"Just..." she breathes. "Stay."

He can't stop himself from asking, "Here or tonight?"

"Both."

He's almost sure he didn't hear anything, but he knows by the way her nails tighten slightly on his arms that he couldn't have been dreaming it. He ignores everything, ignores the fact that he really should get up and clean up, that this couldn't be a good idea for either of them, if only because it meant things will have changed come morning, but he can't do anything but submit.

Because tonight, she needs him. And part of him hopes tomorrow she will too.

* * *

_So, first off, remember how I've been promising a few of you guys some Caskett smut? How did this strike your fancy?_

_Second, I wrote this on a plane. Sitting beside a little old lady, with a kid behind me, on my iPod. Do you have any idea how awkward that is?! _

_Third, VIRTUE AND MOIR!!! Ahem... I mean, Canada won gold last night. And the US won silver. And they're best friends, all four of them, because they train together. And Tessa and Scott are freaking adorable. And I think I've just become a massive ice dancing fan. It's less scary than the pairs because there's not as much of a falling issue or like... dying issue. I haven't been able to stop watching their free dance all day long! And I want a Scott Moir, because he's freaking adorable. And that's my ice dancing rant for today. _

_Fourth, I'm wired and exhausted at the same time. Which is irrelevant information for you, but with the gold last night and the fact that, really, I should have done work on the plane instead of writing this, I'm allowed._

_Fifth (and finally), one of the things I like best about this is that, theoretically, it's open for more. As it stands, it's done, but it was just too beautiful of a place to leave it. I hope you guys agree!_

_Review?_


	2. Real

_05/10/10 - **MOVED! **Originally posted as a oneshot._

**Real**

He can remember the first night vividly.

He can remember her smell, her taste, that first touch of his tongue to her skin. He remembers tearing fabric and a trail of clothes. He remembers taking her against the wall the first time and barely making it to the bed for the second. He remembers giving her a note in the morning along with a little pink envelope to replace the clothing he ruined.

And yet, he has no idea how they got here.

He's breathing harshly, his entire body strung taught. They've had this argument so many times, but never like this. It's always been playful with the undertone of seriousness but this… this is something different entirely.

He hadn't been able to help himself, that was what it all came down to. She'd told him, like she always did, to stay in the damned car, to not move from his seat. He was unpredictable, sometimes listening, sometimes ignoring the order. The case had just been too good to pass up. A father-daughter killing team, and all he wanted to see was their lair. He'd even left a few minutes after the police did so that he'd be walking into the place after they'd cleared it.

The bullet had missed him by inches, grazing his arm, and in that split second, he'd glimpsed a horror on her face that he never wants to see again.

She's scared.

He's scared.

Neither of them are willing to be vulnerable enough to admit it.

This shift, he realizes, has been a long time coming. When they started, it was just once in a while, every now and then. Now, it's almost a regular thing, so regular that he'd actually started spending the night. Or she did on the few and very rare nights they were in his loft. Her place was preferable, less interruptions. She'd started it too, asking him to stay almost two months ago.

For once, instead of fighting it out with the chemistry-induced passion, they fought it out with words, both of them saying things they didn't mean and both of them spouting everything but the truth.

They're scared. Of everything.

They're scared of each other, of what things between them can be. They're scared of becoming too much, of having to let go, of knowing there is nothing they can do. They're scared of losing everything, their friendship, their working relationship, on something that isn't a guarantee. They're scared of upending everything in their lives.

But then again, he realizes, haven't they already done that?

It's that, more than anything else, that has him rushing out of his loft and into a cab, making it to her apartment as efficiently as New York can be at an ungodly hour of the morning. He's only slightly surprised to find that she hadn't been asleep and he certainly doesn't dwell on it as he hauls her against him. She's surprisingly pliant in his arms and he realizes that this is what she wanted. Her arms come up around his neck as someone kicks the door closed, her body pushing against his as she kisses him feverishly. Eventually they both pull back and he rests his forehead on hers, his breath mingling with hers.

"It's worth it," he whispers.

He feels her brow furrow as much as he sees it and he knows the question she wants to ask.

"Us," he elaborates, choosing his words as carefully as he can considering the circumstances. They're both emotional messes and he's not really sure any of this is going to make sense. But he knows if there's anything he's learned from their scare today and regardless of how clichéd it was, nothing ever lasts. He could have been shot and killed and never told her how much she meant to him. He kisses her again, this one slow and deep and he cups her face when he pulls away.

"This stopped being just sex a couple of months ago, Kate," he breathes. "In fact, it was never just sex for me."

He can hear and feel her breath hitch and his eyes lock on hers, unrelenting and brutally honest. He knows his emotions are naked to her right now, knows that he's put himself in the most vulnerable position he's been in since she'd almost thrown him out on his ass years ago.

"Rick," she says, catching on and shaking her head. "You can't…" And he knows she's going to tell him that he's about to say things he doesn't mean, that whatever he's about to say is going to be in the heat of the moment, to make things okay between them again. But that's not what he's thinking.

"I can, and I will," he tells her. "I said things today… things I didn't mean." He called her names, called her aloof and cold-hearted, too guarded to see what was right in front of her nose. He'd reminded her that she was alone in the world, that she didn't take risks, that she always needed guarantees that just couldn't be given. "And I know I didn't mean them, Kate."

She stays silent, lets him continue, and he's stupidly thankful for it.

"But this… This I mean. Things between us… There's something there, Kate." His eyes plead with her to believe him, to listen to him, to see his side of the argument. "It's not a passing fancy, it's not getting you out of my system, it's not finding comfort, it's real."

She blinked stunned and unsure. His thumb came up to her cheek, the rest of his hand cupping her jaw, feeling the soft skin. "I can do real, Kate. You know I can."

The barely perceptible shift in her eyes told him she knew it too. Still, there was something guarded in her gaze, something protecting herself. So he kissed her again, wrapping her up tightly in his arms, pulling her as close to his body as he could. One of her hands threaded up into his hair as her tongue slid against his, and he couldn't stop the moan that came out of his chest. This time, she's the one to pull away, biting her lip slightly as she looks up at him.

"I said things I didn't mean too," she tells him. "A lot of things I didn't mean."

It's enough of an apology to him, enough of an acquiescence that this time, he lifts her bodily from the floor and carries her to the couch as his mouth fuses to hers. She responds with equal ardour, matching him, fighting him, giving and taking. She rubs against him as he lowers her to her couch cushions, following her until he's poised over her and her leg is wrapped around his hip. It doesn't take her much effort to flip them, but it does send them tumbling to the floor. They stop to laugh for a moment before his reverent hands come up to oh-so-slowly take care of her blouse. The material parts when he's finished with the buttons and his hands find her bare skin. He looks up at her as his hands brush between the bottom edge of her bra and the top of her pants.

"You're beautiful," he whispers to her and she blushes. He's never told her that before, not like this. He's called her sexy, hot, and various other synonyms for both, but never beautiful. He knows that, he's done it deliberately, but with their fight and his admission – hers too, though he learned long ago that Kate's admissions come in actions and not words – things have shifted. He's realized that there's never enough time because it's impossible to know when it's going to be stolen from you.

She leans down and kisses him. "Thank you," she whispers against his mouth before kissing him again, this one deeper, fuller, hotter. He responds in kind, and they work together to get the blouse of her shoulders. The bra follows soon afterwards and her hands slip under his sweater as the serviceable black cotton falls away. Her fingers are cool against his stomach as they inch his shirt up until he gets impatient. He pushes himself into a sitting position, recognizing that what he's done is put her center into more direct contact with his rather sizable erection. She pauses and he feels a shiver drill down her spine seconds before his shirt is yanked up his body.

His arms come around her as she throws the shirt away and he revels in the feeling of her breasts against his chest. She's one of the few women he could spend a lifetime just kissing. There's always something new, always something different to experience and he can't help himself. But eventually, the rest of her body beckons him and his hands trail down her back as his mouth makes a quick path down the side of her neck. He pushes on the bottom of her spine and she lifts onto her knees so he's level with her chest. He doesn't hesitate in pulling a nipple into his mouth.

"Rick…" Her voice is breathy, a testament to what he does to her and her hands are tugging on his hair. He lets her one breast go and heads for the other, capturing it in his mouth the same way he did the first.

She's the first one to aim for pants, dealing with the button and fly of his jeans with surprising dexterity at the same time she pulls her breast away from his mouth. Her hand dives inside, finding him, stroking him, feeling him in her palm. His eyes fall closed as she takes her time and he pulls her down into a kiss that curls her toes. Eventually, she pushes herself away and off of him and he's confused for a moment before he understands. She deals with her pants and underwear quickly, and he's not far behind, but she doesn't let him roll on top of her. Instead, she straddles him again, taking a moment to dig in his wallet for the condom she knows is there.

She doesn't tease or play around as she sheaths him, merely slides the latex over his length and then, using her hand to position him, sinks down on him. She moves slowly, her hands resting on his chest as she rises and sinks on him, setting a patterned rhythm. His hands come up to her hips, moving with her, urging her on, watching her carefully. His fingers slip between them, stroking against her, making her back arch and her breath come short in her lungs. He can feel her body tensing, feel the orgasm coming and he watches in awe as her back arches and she falls over that peak.

She collapses over his chest and he strokes her back until her breathing calms. Then she pushes herself up, placing her hands on his chest again. He grasps her wrist lightly and shakes his head, tugging her down for a slow, drugging kiss.

"Bed," he tells her when he lets her go and she reluctantly lets him slide out of her as she stands. She waits for him and he's surprised when she laces her fingers through hers for the quick trip to her bedroom. She faces him when they get there and he wraps his arms around her waist. His kiss is long, seductive and oh-so indicative of everything crushing in on his chest. Their fight is catching up with them both, the fear and anguish sliding through them. Her orgasm has taken the edge off of their flurry though and this slow pace is more for memory's sake. Just in case.

But it gives way quickly and he backs her towards her bed, lowering her onto the mattress and following her as she scoots up the blankets. Her hair fans out against the pillow in the way he just loves and he kisses her again, simultaneously sliding into her. His rhythm is slower, more controlled but he's firmer in his movements, like he's already been put back together again after everything that's happened and he doesn't need the reassurance of living and feeling. He's savouring this moment, savouring this time with her as he slides in and out of her wetness.

She's mewling beneath him, shivering and shaking and he knows he's working her up to peak number two. She's moving with him, her arms wrapping around him, and his pace picks up without the conscious permission of his brain. He angles slightly and his pelvic bone hits her just right to send her spiraling higher and higher until the wave crashes over her with a short sharp cry. It triggers his own orgasm and he stills within her, panting harshly into her neck. He rolls them then until she's back on his chest and he's glad to find her arms wrapped just as tightly around him as his are around her.

_I'm here_, he thinks, wishing there was some sort of telekinetic connection between them. _I'm here_.

Eventually though, he has to get up to deal with the condom and he finds the blankets turned down when he returns. He slides into bed with her without asking, pulling her body and arranging her limbs against his. He still doesn't know if she'll need him in the morning, but he knows that this time, she doesn't need to ask him to stay. He's staying because he's finally admitted to himself that he needs her and even though there's that niggling doubt in the back of his mind, he's pretty sure she needs him too.

* * *

_So, this originally came to me a couple of weeks ago, but I never got around to finishing it. As you can see, it is now done! _

_I don't know if there's going to be more. It's listed as complete partially because this can be read as a standalone as much as it can be read in conjunction with Needs. There may be more in the future, but it totally depends on Madam Inspiration. Right now, she's in Miami with Kate and a GSW to the shoulder. Good times._

_Review?_


	3. Possession

**Possession**

Tom Demming is nothing.

Logically, he knows this, knows this as well as he knows her, but that doesn't stop the Green Eyed Monster from popping up as he watches the robbery detective not only step in on his usual places in their case, but watches him try and step in on his girl too.

Though, he considers, it's not official.

They've never talked about it, though they're both aware their relationship is a lot deeper than it had started. He's pretty sure she's not seeing anyone else – as in dating, or as in sleeping with – and he knows very well that she won't leave his head. These days, when they're not sharing a bed, he's in his office. Three book deal, one completed, one in progress, one sketched out and his hard drive and murder board are filled with others that run rampant when she's not around to distract him.

Tom Demming is a foreign entity into their pack. Sure, Esposito and Ryan approve, but they approve of the man working the case. If they notice the flirtation, they don't care. And really, that's what bothers him more. Even if he's pretty sure she's not seeing anyone else, they're not official and thus, she has carte blanche. If she wants to go out with Demming, he has no right to stop her. No matter how much he may want to.

But that doesn't mean that he can't fight for her.

So even though the case is closed, he stays behind, and there's a knowledge in her eyes as he sits beside her, a hum of energy about him, that he's following her home. Or, in this case, carpooling. Because she doesn't say anything to the contrary he knows she's okay with it, and he takes some relief from the fact that she hasn't made plans with Demming. She's many things, but not cruel.

The car ride is silent, him because he knows he's going to say something wrong the second he opens his mouth and she… well, probably because she knows he's going to say something stupid and doesn't want to do the paperwork when she shoots him. He's not sure, but she's got this tick just above her temple that he knows means she's not happy-go-lucky. Something is irritating her and though the list of possibilities is long, very few make that number one spot like he does. And he's quite positive it has everything to do with that damned Demming.

The walk to her apartment is also silent, and he's already shot a message home to say he's not going to be there. His mother may simply go to bed regardless of whether or not he's home, but his daughter worries.

The apartment she found after the explosion is crisp and tidy, just like he remembers it and she turns to look at him as if realizing that what's going on… it's all coming back to him. _Them_. He takes a step towards her, heat threading through his blood. He knows what's in his eyes, on his face. He wants her, but he also wants to prove something, prove that they are the ones together. Demming doesn't get to step in on his woman, even if she's not officially his.

Her eyes widen as he makes his way to her and he knows she's now completely aware of what's going on. Still, she doesn't run. She backs up, yes, takes steps away from him, but he can tell by the way her brown eyes heat that she's okay with his predatory behavior.

Finally, she hits the wall and he moves swiftly to press her against the flat surface. Her hands move, presumably to wrap around his body, but he sees the move coming. He grasps her wrists tightly, but not tight enough to hurt, lifting them until he can pin them on either side of her head. His body keeps hers from moving much as he leans in and kisses her. He holds back nothing, conveying everything he's feeling. It's the general take on their relationship. They communicate in gestures, in movements, in actions. This is no different.

She tries to fight him at first, tries to push her body against his, tries to force him back, but he's heavier than her and, as she's learned long before now, stronger than he looks. She's helpless against him, under him and though she fights him for a little bit longer, she gives in eventually. She knows from experience that it'll be good, no matter if she fights or not. Sometimes it's just easier not to. Sometimes, it's more pleasurable that way. And the way he's devouring her… She can't see straight and she can't quite think straight, but she knows this has everything to do with possession. The thrill that runs through her body at the thought tells her she likes the idea of allowing him to stake his claim.

He feels the pleasure shiver down her spine and can't stop himself from grinning into their kiss. Part of him wonders if she has any idea what she's signed up for, if she truly understands the need bubbling under the surface. It's need for her, there's no doubt about that, but it's also that elusive need to possess her, to have her, to keep her.

His mouth trails away from hers, across her cheekbone until he can take her earlobe in his mouth. His breath ghosts across her ear when he releases it and the shiver drills down her spine, leaving her body vibrating with anticipation. Sometimes, she's a little afraid at how easily he leaves her a mushy puddle on the floor, but then he does something sweet outside the bedroom – just last week he left her an adorable little note about coffee and breakfast – and she thinks, for a split second, that maybe things between them have passed the significant other stage long ago and there's no reason for her to be afraid. Because try as she might to convince herself otherwise, he's told her he's in it for the long haul. She just hasn't acknowledged she is too.

"Hands stay here," he breathes into her ear, pushing slightly on her wrists to alert her to their position. "Don't move them."

She nods and barely resists the whimper when he pushes away from her slightly. He's grinning like a predator, watching her with dark blue eyes. His fingers come up to her jaw, tracing down the side of her neck, down to brush over the hollow between her collarbones. Her eyes slide closed almost against her will as sensation swamps her body. She hears his dark chuckle and her body responds accordingly, the same way it does when she feels his breath on her neck.

"I'm going to take you tonight," he tells her in a low voice. "I'm going to take you because you're _mine_."

As if she didn't already know why they were here. She hadn't intended on this reaction in the slightest. She'd merely reacted to Demming, to the way he knew the job, to the way he moved about the case. She wasn't going to lie and say this wasn't a thrill, that this doesn't make her feel exceedingly secure in her feminism and had she, even for a moment, thought that this was the kind of reaction she'd get…

Her thoughts scatter as his teeth bite down on the side of her neck at the same time his thumb brushes over her nipple. Even above her blouse and bra, the sheer possession in the touch and his voice has the fire of desire licking through her, making her all the more sensitive to his touch. Her body bows, hips grinding against his.

"Do you want me, Kate?" he asks against her lips. "Do you want me to touch you?"

This time, she doesn't hold back her whimper, knowing this is what he wants from her. Honestly, there's a big part of her that's even more turned on by the fact that he's taken such complete control. She's a strong woman, but there had always been that little part of her that didn't see herself as anything more than the cop she was. As stupid as it felt for her to say, he made her feel differently. He made her feel like she wasn't just a cop, but a woman and a person. And part of her hates that he can make her that sappy.

But, that's not the focus at hand and he wastes no time in opening the button of her pants and sliding down the zipper. His hand twists and slides inside, wasting no time when he realizes how wet she is to slide two thick fingers into her. Her breath chokes in her throat and her body bows against her will. There's always a part of her that fights against utter domination, losing complete control, but he leans his weight against her until her body is pressed against the wall again. She moves against him, knowing that the undulations of her body affect him. She's hoping to make him move his fingers faster.

Instead, his smile is dark as he forces her body to shift and suddenly, it's her movements that are bringing her pleasure, the way her body is sliding on his fingers the source of the spreading heat in her stomach. When she starts to move faster, and he knows she's working herself quickly to her peak, he puts a hand on her hip and moves closer, forcing her body to stop moving. Her eyes open, glaring at him and his eyes flash. He leans down, mouth against her ear.

"I had to watch you flirt with him, watch you smile at him, watch you and him together, knowing I had _no claim_. Because that's not the way our relationship works, but tonight… Tonight I'm going to remind you that you're mine, whether you know it or not, whether you acknowledge it or not, Kate,_ you are mine_."

She's pretty much willing to admit that aloud so long as he moves his fingers. She wants to come and she wants it badly. She knows that's not the right situation to sob out that she's his, but it still takes everything in her and sinking her teeth into her lip, to keep herself from saying it.

He withdraws his fingers, and her face winkles in disappointment at the loss. He chuckles but makes quick work of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. He grunts as the shirt catches on her elbows and she refuses to move her arms. Really, she's following his demand, keeping her hands by her head, and she thrills a little at the fact that he's obviously completely forgotten he'd done it. But her miniature victory is cut short when his hands slide behind her back, forcing her to arch towards him enough for him to slip up and undo her bra, flipping the cups out of the way to latch onto a naked nipple.

Lips and teeth and tongue tease her, leaving her hips arching against his body without the friction she craves. She's going to kill him, it's that simple. Or she would if this didn't feel so good, if she didn't know that this possessive side of him quite obviously makes her hot. Instead, she allows herself to sink into the touch, the rough kneading of her free breast while his mouth tortured the first. He's lost himself in her too, in the taste of her, the feel of her, the knowledge that she will submit so completely to what he wants to do.

And he has some serious plans.

Which is why he leaves her breast, taking pride in the whimper she actually releases this time, hands moving quickly to boost her under her ass. She moves without thinking, wrapping her arms around his neck for balance and stability as he strides confidently towards her bedroom. She squeaks as he drops her on the soft mattress, shucking her pants and panties down her legs, then lifting her as he kisses her. Here, she can give as good as she gets and she actually helps him get rid of her shirt and bra. Then, before he can pin her to the bed, she rips his shirt open and pushes it down his shoulders. But that's as far as he lets her get before forcing her back against the bed, trailing his mouth down her body and thrusting two fingers into her.

His fingers make her come, choking and unsuspecting, but he doesn't let up. Instead, he works her through her climax and up to another peak before affixing his mouth to her clit. She's weak and panting by the time her third orgasm subsides, but she moves as he turns her on her stomach, lifting her ass in the air so she's balanced on her knees and elbows. He's stripped down while giving her all of thirty seconds to recover and he slips a condom on as she shifts her body. He groans as he slides into her sensitive heat and she pants harshly. The stimulation of him inside her is almost too much to bear, but the discomfort has an undercurrent of pleasure to it as he thrusts in as deep and as rough as he thinks she can take.

"You're mine," he says as he thrusts into her body. "Mine."

Her head falls forward, resting her forehead on her folded arms, her hands fisting in her blankets. "God, yes," she breathes out. "Harder."

He's only a little surprised to hear her beg for more, but adjusts his angle, his hands clenching on her hips. He's pretty sure he's going to leave a bruise, but the thought of marking her is too much to pass up. Plus, she's begging for more and he's going to give it to her. His pace is maddenly slow, but deep and thorough and she's arching back, moving against him.

"Faster," she moans. "Rick…"

He leans down. "Say it," he says against her. "You're mine, Kate, and I want you to say it."

That in itself is enough to have her biting her lip. Her eyes close as he slides in and out of her, holding her hips to keep her from thrusting back at him. "Rick…"

"Say it," he repeats. "Say you're mine." He wants to hear her beg for it, for her to acknowledge that he's the only one that can do this to her, that can work her to her peak and launch her over it.

She moves, shifts, tries to counter his strength with his, but it does nothing. He has her and he's giving her no choice but to do as he demands. But she has her own counter attack. "Rick, it's so good. So good inside me… Faster, Rick, _please_."

It's not what he wants to hear, but he increases the pace because she's begging, because he can't hold back. He can't stop himself from moving faster, from wrapping his arms around her to lift her up. One arm wraps around her, just above her breasts, and the other winds low around her stomach. Now, she's pinned against him and he sinks his teeth into the back of her shoulder. Her body arches forward and that slides him against the front wall of her channel. Her body stutters and her desire skyrockets and her control breaks.

"I'm yours," she sobs out, "God, Rick, I'm yours."

"Yeah," he murmurs against the skin of her shoulder. "Yeah, you're mine. And I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

And he moves faster, deeper and she cries out before biting her lip, her hand groping for one of the nearby throw pillows on her bed. But he's holding her too tightly against his body, his arms shackles around her shoulders and midsection and she can do nothing but go along with it.

"You're going to come," he tells her. "You're going to come and the only name you're going to know is mine. I want to hear it, Kate."

Jesus, she's losing her hold on reality. Her world is fogging around the edges, making it difficult to focus, making it difficult to do anything but remember to breathe. But her mind clings to one thread of thought amidst the pleasure coursing through her blood.

"God, Rick," she breathes, her eyes falling closed and her head falling against his shoulder. "I'm going to-"

"Yeah, yeah you are. Hard, so hard you're going to remember this."

And she does, her eyes widening as pleasure short circuits her entire being and her world narrows to him, inside her, around her, _everything_.

"Rick!"

When her brain starts working again, he's guided her into the bathroom and the shower, the water sliding over spots that are too sensitive. She whimpers, and he shushes her gently, his soapy hands working over her body. She's going to hurt tomorrow, but she's not sure she cares. Instead, she slides into these gentle touches, her eyes sliding closed as exhaustion starts to pull at her. He washes her gently, rinses her, and quickly dries her off. It takes her a minute to realize he's just tucked her into bed while he goes to have a quick shower himself.

Then he's crawling in the other side, and she feels him pull her close. She sighs as she settles in against him because she knows that whether she acknowledges it or not, whether it is affirmed in words or in gestures, she's his.

* * *

_Matter-of-fact Moment: I don't like this one as much. Huh. I think it's because it doesn't have the same emotion as the other ones. _

_So, as you can see, I decided to file this series together instead of in pieces. I didn't intend this to become a little series, but... well, it has, because the one I have to come after this is already half written. _

_So, knowing that there's another one coming, does that make you a little more inclined to review?_


	4. Soft

**Soft**

When they wake up, it's raining. Pouring.

Rick wakes first, but he's content to lie there with her, watching her in peaceful slumber. Eventually, that changes, and a little wrinkle forms between her brows as she moves from sleep to wakefulness. He can't stop himself from reaching out to brush his finger against that wrinkle. Her eyes flutter open then, fixing blearily and sleepily on his. The lazy smile that drifts over her face makes him warm.

"Good morning," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss her.

She hums into his mouth, her head tilting back as his kiss deepens. She lets herself fall into the sensations sliding languidly through her. Last night had been about claiming his territory and she is very aware of that. This is slower, building, taking time and she's contributing as much to the kiss as he is. She's not usually much for clichés, but this... This is different and she lets herself believe that this is about them. This isn't about possession, claiming, marking, but about sweetly showing what last night had meant and about the truth of their relationship.

Because as much as she fights it, she knows that this changed long ago. Sex isn't all there is between them. They fight differently now, with the undertone of resolved sexual tension, still burning hot between them nonetheless, that she knows no one in the precinct has missed. She still gets angry at him, really angry, because he still does stupid things, but that doesn't mean she lov- cares about him any less.

His hands slide slowly down her body, gently rousing the ember he'd brought to burning flame not seven hours before. Her eyes slide closed as his hands float over her erogenous zones, brushing over her pulse, sliding against the sensitive undersides of her breasts, feathering over her hip bones. Her hands aren't idle either, gripping, stroking, kneading...

His breath is coming faster and her caresses change accordingly. His change too and he brings his mouth into play, using his strength to lift her above him. She moves with him, makes it easier by straddling his body and rolling her hips against his. He groans. His hands urge her to move further upwards until his mouth locks on a breast.

"Rick," she breathes as she lets her head fall back. He moves with the undulation of her body as it responds to his mouth on her sensitive skin. He uses lips and teeth and tongue against her breasts, then eases back, his hand going down her body. He touches every bit of her body and she moans, sighs and cries out with the touch. His hand finds her hot and wet and her head falls forward again as his finger moves leisurely against her. Her mind fogs over as sensation swamps her nerve endings. She feels raw and exposed, more so because she knows that this time, the emotion is all over her face, showing in the movements of her body.

Though it's unspoken, she's his and she actually kind of likes that idea.

It's with supreme strength that she finds her focus, kissing her way down his chest, mouth brushing ever so slightly against his nipples on the way down. It dislodges his hand and even though she was aware of that particular consequence she still makes a little sound of disappointment.

Her tongue follows the cut of his hips and his knee bends slightly, finding the juncture of her thighs. She's grateful for the pressure and rubs against him a little before focusing back on his pleasure. She swallows him, pushing down as far as she can go. His breath and what she presumes was going to be a groan catches in his throat and she's more than a little pleased at the effect she has on him. She uses every trick she knows, bringing him up, almost to climax before easing off. Both of them are breathing heavily as she moves back up his body, leaning down and pressing her mouth to his.

"Do you know how hot it makes me to watch you do that?" he whispers as she leans over to her bedside table. Her smile is devious as she rolls the condom on his length and positions herself above him. This is not a traditional position for them, mostly because the idea of letting him see her entire body as she screws his brains out is uncomfortable, but for once, she enjoys the vulnerability she feels threading though her. And the look on his face of utter worship is enough to banish most of her self-conscious fears.

Her eyes close and she hears him let out a guttural groan as she slides onto him, inch by inch. She loves the way he feels inside her, loves the jolt of pleasure that comes as he rubs against the sensitive nerves inside her. She takes a second to absorb the feel of him buried to the hilt before she plants her hands on his chest and starts to move. She rocks forward, then lifts off almost all the way before sliding back down again, repeating the motions until he picks up her rhythm. Then they're moving together, eyes locked and he watches her eyes fog and darken. She can't stop herself from closing her eyes as her peak crests and rolls over her, releasing a long low moan from her throat. Rick follows her over, but he doesn't close his eyes. He loves watching her.

She sighs in satisfaction allowing her body to go limp. Her head comes to rest on his shoulder and her eyes stay closed. His hands slide up and down her bare back.

"I always make Belgian waffles on rainy days," he says quietly once their breathing has calmed. His hand is still tracing lazy circles on her back, making her a bit drowsy, but she rests her hand on his chest and her chin on her hand to meet his eyes. His are still closed but she knows he knows she's watching him.

It takes him another minute before he says, "You should come."

And despite the fact that she knew it was coming - he wouldn't have brought it up otherwise - she still closes her eyes. As much as their relationship has shifted and changed, they don't do domestic things. She doesn't do breakfast and he doesn't even try to ask. But she knows they're shifting again, knows that she has a choice to make. Because if she says 'no', if she tells him she has to go home, she's pretty sure it'll set them back a step. As scary – utterly terrifying, actually – as moving forward is, she knows she doesn't want to go back.

He makes her laugh, he makes her light and in her line of work, with her ghosts and her past, it means more than he could probably ever know. He forces her to think outside of the box, forces her to take a night off from talking case and as nice of a guy as Demming is, she knows it would be a little bit like Will. A little too much in common, a little too much work, and too little laughter.

"Rick," she begins, but stops when his finger presses against her mouth.

"It's not a precedent," he tells her, "not if you don't want it to be. It's breakfast with me and my daughter, and maybe my mother if she feels like braving the rain. It doesn't have to be anything more than that."

It will be something significant, but the fact that he tells her she won't be required to do the same should the situation come up later tells her just how much he knows about her. It's scary and thrilling at the same time. He won't pressure her to give him more than she's willing to give and that means more than she can put into words. Because it says that he cares, that regardless of what she wants to bring to their relationship - and though it's not official, she knows to call it what it is - he's not going to pressure her to give more.

She bites her lip, a good portion of her still terrified about what staying for breakfast will mean, not just for them, but for Alexis too. She doesn't want to give the redhead the wrong impression about permanence when she'd definitely not sure herself.

His hand comes up to her cheek, thumb brushing over the delicate bone. "Come have breakfast, Kate."

She valiantly ignores the way her heart melts a little at the sincere way he asks the question. She looks down at the way her fingers are threading through his chest hair. She allows a little smile to spread across her face. "You know, Belgian waffles sound pretty good."

His smile is wide and bright and she can't stop herself from warming and responding with a smile of her own. She relaxes against him as he kisses her thoroughly. He pulls away his hands stroking her skin in a way that makes her blood heat.

"Do you think you could wait a bit for breakfast?" he asks, his eyes warm.

"Why?"

His smile is a little bit mischievous now. "Because I'm not ready to brave the rain just yet. And I was thinking you could help me wash my back."

* * *

_You know, I debated adding another smut scene in the shower, but I figured I'd save that for another chapter. This did what I wanted it to do and I didn't want to take away from that._

_Now, this one is the fastest update you'll probably ever get. This scene came to me half way through writing Possession and while it was storming outside. I love the rain and it just begs for curling up with a book, but I figured that wasn't as conducive to the forward movement of these two as I'd like. So I went with rainy day waffles instead. But the important thing here is that I'm not sure when the next one (if there will be a next one, but considering there hasn't been any specific reference to the official conversation they need to have I'm assuming I'll be writing more) will be up. _

_For now, I'm just hoping you're satisfied with this! And I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this little series. It's been fun to write, so it's great that it's been fun to read. _


	5. Signal

**NOTE: **_There's a fixed "Soft", the previous chapter. Thanks to those who pointed out the inconsistencies! _

**Signal**

When it comes to him, she is utterly sure of one very important thing:

She is in complete control.

Not in the dominating sense, not in the 'I-wear-the-pants' sense, but he's been following her lead since they started. One word from her, one slight indication, and he'd be screaming from the rooftops that they were together, and, though she's only ever admitted it in her head, happy. She knows he's waiting for her breaking point, waiting for the moment when she's pushed over the edge into the conversation she's been avoiding and he hasn't been pushing.

Though she has to give him credit. The fact that he's _not_ pushing her is one of the clearest indications of how well he knows her. The fact that he's going at her pace, that he's comfortable in simply knowing they're together. Of course, that means he's occasionally photographed with some starlet bimbo on his arm at a party, launch or publicity stunt, but thankfully she's comfortable enough in herself and in what they have to know he's coming home to _her_ at the end of the night.

Metaphorically speaking anyway.

And all of this is what has her lying awake at a stupid hour of a Saturday morning. She's at the Castle loft. They're spending more nights at his place, because it's quieter and because she can't get enough of his bathtub. Alexis and Martha seem to have slipped into the routine without questioning it, without questioning her ongoing and more frequent presence. If anything, Alexis seems kind of happy with the idea.

But what has her mind whirling, reminding her that she's the one that holds all of the control, is a catalyst of a different variety. A fangirl variety.

She's used to the fans by now. There's too many of them to count, and she can't really fault them. She has the honour – and yes, she's come to the conclusion that though he's utterly childish and often a pain, it can also been a blessing to have him in the precinct daily – of being with him constantly, so she's used to him. She's immune to his charms and completely indifferent to his fame. She treats him like a person, gets annoyed with him as if he's not a famous author with too many best-sellers to his name. She knows he likes that, that he treasures that.

But it means that she understands the awe. She'd felt it at first, when she realized that she was going to have to arrest his ass. There's that moment of 'Oh my God, I'm actually meeting him' that's faded away as she's worked with him. But for a fangirl, there isn't that time to just absorb him. They treat him like a king, like a God, and it's one of those fangirls that has her pondering the control she has.

Or, more appropriately, finally exercising that control.

She knows there's a part of him that hates her decision to keep things unofficial and she knows that it's a two-part problem. She knows because a) she knows him, but more importantly, b) she feels it sometimes too. More so before she realized that he was waiting on her, but every once in a while, it rears it's ugly head at her. He's frustrated because he wants to proclaim that she's his, and he's frustrated because there's an element of their relationship that makes the other a dirty little secret.

But things are shifting.

And it's all thanks to Miranda Tips.

They'd been pulled out of bed forty-eight hours ago with a break in the case they'd been working for three weeks straight. Or, more appropriately, their leads had finally culminated in the arrest of Miss Tips. Ryan and Esposito had been tasked with bringing her in while they went over the files again, trying to decide which way to take the interrogation. She'd known from the minute Miss Tips had caught sight of him which tactic she was going to use.

Then it had all started falling apart.

And all because Miss Tips had smirked at her, twinkle in her eye as she asked him if his _girlfriend_ would mind him stepping out with another woman.

And for the first time, _ever_, she hadn't correct Miss Tips' assumption.

She'd known she surprised him, floored him really, when she didn't jump in to defend their relationship or try and correct the assumption. So, naturally he'd played along and even at the time she'd known that. What she hadn't anticipated was the thrill that went through her as the interrogation had worn on and suddenly, their behaviour in private became their behaviour in public. She knows it looked like an act – the boys ribbed her mercilessly – but from the look in his eyes, even he knows it really wasn't.

She knows this is the one thing in their relationship that has to be talked about, verbalized, dissected within an inch of its life. Because a relationship between them is not only volatile, but she knows that if things don't crash and burn, there is the serious chance that he could be her one and done. She's thought of it on occasion, when her thoughts won't be quiet. And right now, it falls into the category firmly labeled "terrifying".

But that particular section of that particular box had upended itself almost an hour ago and her mind has been whirling since. There is too much to consider, too much to think about. She slides her eyes closed, breathing deep once, not caring if her abnormal breathing pattern pulls him from his own slumber. The only thing she focuses on is letting it all fall away to get to the heart of the matter.

Does she want to be his girlfriend.

The simple answer is 'yes' and it's a simple answer she's acknowledged many times before. She wants to be his girlfriend, but it's not that easy. With them, there's more. With them, there's the childishness versus the perfectionist, the workaholic against the playboy. She knows that so often their lives have seemed so completely incompatible and both of them so completely blind to the other and that's not what she wants in a stable happy relationship.

Of course, even she has to admit she's been with no one else since they started sleeping together. She's pretty sure he hasn't either and she not only catches him watching her with a muted awe on a more regular basis, but she notices him doing it with other women around. Women that, had this been before they started sleeping together, would have turned his head in an instant. But it's not like that anymore. He's totally focused on _her_.

Which is what's making her reconsider her fears. She knows that love and fear are the best of friends, knows that there isn't a human being alive who isn't afraid when falling in love, but she's spent too much time protecting herself to just tear down her walls in an instant. But, she reflects, maybe it wouldn't be instantaneous after all. Maybe, she thinks, he's been breaking down those walls when she hasn't been paying attention and that alone is what makes things between them real.

She knows that many of her walls have fallen to his charm. She knows that she shares with him without realizing it, that he can read her, that he _knows_ her and the only way that can happen is if he's broken down her walls. It helps, of course, that he listens, truly listens, so much so that she knows he could repeat back to her some of the most miniscule details. He proves that to her when he asks about her plans when they're not together. Like last week, when he'd asked her how drinks with Lanie had gone. The spur-of-the-moment plans had been made and mentioned at the last minute and yet, he'd asked. Or the last time she'd taken a weekend to visit her father in upstate New York and she'd told him weeks before going. It had been his first conversation starter the Monday she returned.

But the one wall she's always kept in place is the one between this 'non-relationship' and the real, honest-to-goodness official relationship that's floating around in her head. She's resisted giving in for fear of what it could mean. Yet, maybe… just maybe the fear is healthy. Maybe it's not about protecting herself from hurt but protecting herself from _investing_. Which, she acknowledges, is stupid because just like him, she's already invested and she's pretty much been invested since he started following her on cases in some way or another.

He's stayed asleep through her thinking and part of her is kind of grateful for it. She's made a decision, one she knows is going to shock him. She twists, pressing her mouth just under his jaw, then trailing slowly down his throat. She knows just how to wake him up and it's one of her favourites. She continues down his chest, her tongue paying quick attention to his nipples before going lower, moving the blankets out of the way as she goes.

"Rick," she sing-songs when his chest hitches slightly. She drags her nails gently down his chest until they rest at his hips and she's hovering above him watching, so she knows he's not asleep anymore. She takes him in her hand, sliding her tongue from base to tip. "Wake up."

His eyes open and he takes her in, one hand on him, the other supporting her weight beside his hip. He groans quietly. "This is better than my dream."

Her chuckle is low and throaty. "You were having a dream about me?" she asks, voice innocent as she licks him again. Power thrills through her at his sigh and she revels in it because _she _is the one turning Rick Castle – the playboy who's probably gotten more than his fair share of oral – to absolute mush.

"I always dream about you," he replies and for the first time, she lets that warm her rather than solely arousing her.

"Tell me about it." He won't say no to her when she's tempting him like this, so there's no doubt in her mind that he'll talk her through this fantasy.

"The precinct," he begins, pausing to moan when she swallows half of him. "We're in the interrogation room and no one's around."

She swallows more of him in reward, then pulls off, swirling her tongue over his tip. His hands are clenched in the sheets and she smiles as she slides her mouth back onto his length.

"You know it's always been one of my fantasies to lay you out over the metal table and take you but that's not what you have in mind."

She's intrigued now and actually listening as much as she's sucking him off. Precinct fantasies are not in short supply in his imagination, because he often implies where he'd like to see her naked, but this is the first time he's told her in detail. Of course, it's also the first time she's asked.

"You're not mad at me, so I'm rightfully confused when you sit me down in one of the chairs, but I can't stop my confusion from turning to outright glee when your fingers go to the buttons on your blouse, undoing them one by one."

A strip tease at the precinct, and he can paint such a beautiful picture in her mind's eye too. She wraps her hand around his base, taking a few minutes to pay careful attention to the head of his cock. He groans, pausing in his story telling, and his hands come up to her head, threading through her hair. The tug is erotic rather than painful and she deliberately looks up at him. He looks down when it's just her breath caressing him and she sees the arousal take over his face as he takes her in, poised above his erection.

"Kate…"

"Keep talking," she urges though she keeps his gaze as she takes him in her mouth again, siding up and down.

"God… Your pants go the same way as your shirt and you're left in your bra, panties and those power heels I love so much."

She knows what pair he's talking about. They're black and they're pumps, not boots. She doesn't wear them often, but his gaze is always more heated when he realizes she's wearing them. She makes a mental note to pull them out of her closet more often.

"You leave my shirt and head straight for my pants, my belt, my fly and I help by allowing you to push them down my thighs. There's no foreplay and I can see the need in your eyes." His fingers stroke her temple and it brings her attention to him as she lets him go with a pop to listen. "And you know how much I enjoy foreplay."

She does, and the thought sends a warm trickle of wetness to her core. This time, she hums her agreement as she takes him in her mouth and he almost jolts off the bed.

"You let me slide your panties off before you sit on my lap, sit on _me_ and it's all I can do to hold on as you slide up and down, fucking me and yourself. Your hands are on my shoulders, bracing yourself and it feels _so good_ Kate."

She lets him go, moving up his body swiftly and reaches for a condom from her top drawer. She rolls it down his length then follows with her body, sliding him into her snug heat. "Like this?"

"Just like this," he hisses as she moves up and down on his body. She lifts her hands to rest them on his shoulders, just like in his dream and his hand brushes down her back, over her ass, sliding around her hip and twisting so he can rub her clit as she moves on him. Their sighs and moans mingle quietly, both of them aware of others in the house and it's a slow build in her, despite his fingers. He peaks first, holding her on his erection as his hips thrust upwards. She stills and waits until he comes back to himself.

But he has plans of his own and when his brain clears enough, he lifts her off of him and flips her to her back, sliding down her body quickly. Not willing to lose the momentum she built, he slides two fingers into her immediately, starting up with the same rhythm they'd left off. He applies his tongue to her clit and she's flying in moments, arching off the bed with a quiet moan. She lies there, eyes closed as he takes care of the condom and she hears him turn on the shower. She doesn't open her eyes until she feels his fingers on her face.

"Come on, Kate," he says quietly and she allows him to pull her out of bed and into the bathroom. He holds her in the shower and they kiss as the water flows down their bodies.

"Breakfast?" he asks as he strokes soapy hands over her shoulders and down her back, his arms still around her.

"Yeah," she replies, her own soapy hands kneading circles over his chest. "Out."

If the notion surprises him he doesn't show it. It doesn't take them long to finish their shower and get dressed and they make their way quietly out of the apartment. They stand their usual distance apart on the elevator and for the walk to the street. There's a half decent amount of traffic for a Saturday morning and she smiles to herself as she steps closer, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her shoulders. They've never done this before, she's never allowed him any affectionate touching in public and so the surprised look he shoots her is expected. She just gives him a shy smile and squeezes his hand while her other one wraps around his waist. His grin is wider as they stroll down the street and he pulls her closer to his side.

She's given her signal and she knows that they're going to have that conversation that's going to make things official. Instead of scaring her, it thrills her. And she likes that.

* * *

_So, theoretically, this is kind of a good spot to end it, but I don't know. It's all dependent on the little muse that lives in my head and writes Caskett smut. I'm leaving it listed as complete (as it's been through this whole little journey) and we'll see if this expands or if this is the end._

_If it is, I do want to say my sincere thanks to you guys for taking the time to leave me a line. I do truly appreciate it and I'm glad you enjoyed!_


	6. Bare

**Bare**

He's tired, but she's exhausted and stressed as he opens the door to his loft. They've been working hard on four back to back cases and the captain's finally ordered them home for the weekend, no interruptions, no on-calls, just sixty straight hours of no cases, no murder, nothing but rest and relaxation.

She goes straight for his bedroom while he heads for the kitchen and they meet in the living room. He pours them both a glass of wine and wraps her fingers around the stem. He guides her to the floor and folds himself onto the couch behind her, his hands going immediately to her shoulders and her head falls forward while he kneads the tense, stiff muscles. He works carefully, methodically, down her neck and across her shoulders, something mindless on the TV for background noise. He's not paying attention to it, and he knows she isn't either.

Eventually her head tilts back and meets his and though she still looks exhausted, still has dark bags under her eyes, there's a spark in her gaze that he will never, ever, tire of seeing. His hand comes to her cheek as she pushes herself up to her knees, placing her still-full wineglass on the nearby coffee table. Still, he meets her kiss, guiding her up until she's standing over him. She breaks the kiss and waits for him to stand. He rests his hand between her shoulder blades, absently rubbing over her shirt.

He expects her to head straight for the bed, but she surprises him when she strips off her shirt on the way to the bathroom.

"Kate?" he asks.

She looks over her shoulder. "Rick, I'm covered in three days of grime. I'm not going to bed without a shower." She shimmies her pants down her legs at the door, stepping out of them, then turning to look at him again. "I'd be willing to have some company."

He's not sure what to think for a split second, but he's also a man and much like her has been running straight for days and he's missed having her. They've been too tired for the four hours they've had to sleep and he's not about to turn down sex. She's already stepped into the steamy water when he makes his way into the bathroom and he doesn't waste time in stripping down, leaving his clothes in a heap. He slid into the shower behind her, wrapping her up in his arms and sprinkling kisses over her shoulders.

"Can I wash your back?" he murmurs into her ear.

She takes the loofah from the tap and hands it to him, turning to kiss him in the process. He'd glad he knows his shower as he carefully walks her back to be able to reach her body wash. He pulls away while he pours some on the netting before starting to run the soap over her body in careful circles. The scent of cherries wafts up into his nose and he revels in it for a moment, in the feeling of having her with him. Despite the fact that they've been together for years, he still feels absolutely blessed that she didn't fight harder to kick him off her case, off her back, and out of her life.

She relaxes against him and he kisses her temple. "We have a whole weekend ahead of us. No obligations, no work… nothing."

She groans and he chuckles at the intense pleasure in the sound. He can't help his body's reaction to it either, because it's the same sound she makes when he's got his tongue against her clit and his fingers inside her. She feels it, he knows she does, because she pushes back against him. He strokes his free hand over her stomach, the touch soothing, not arousing.

"Honey, you're exhausted."

"Not enough to say no to this," she responds and turns in his grip, pressing her mouth firmly against his. He responds because she wants him and he can't say no. The loofah falls to the floor of the bathtub as he wraps his arms firmly around her slick skin. The water's already washed away most of the soap down the drain and he drags one hand up her back, deliberately tracing the left side of her spine. She's more sensitive there and she shivers pleasantly against him. She tilts her hips, pressing herself against his growing erection as her hands settle on his hips. Her kisses turn more insistent and he matches her.

When he breaks the kiss, her mouth dives immediately to his neck and upper chest, hitting all of the spots that make him hot. Her hips are rocking against his as the warm water continues to pour down her back and he brushes her wet hair out of her face to bring her mouth back to his. His tongue battles with hers as his hands slide around her body, grasping her shoulders to turn her and press against her back instead.

"I've missed you," he whispers into her ear and she knows exactly what he means. She presses her ass back against him and his hand stroke up her stomach to cup her breasts. Her nipples have already pebbled and he takes them between his forefinger and thumb as his mouth attacks her neck. The water continues to pelt her sensitive skin as she moans and arches into him. He slides his fingers against the sensitive skin along the outsides of her breasts, then down underneath until he cups them in his palms again. "You're beautiful."

"Rick…"

He can barely hear her over the water and the pounding blood in his ears and he groans against her neck as one hand slides down into wetness he knows isn't solely from the shower. His fingers slide into her easily and he drags her wetness out to mix with the water against her clit. He takes his time bringing her up, listening to her, feeling her move against him as his fingers slide in her. He knows her body almost better than anything else, so he finds her most sensitive places with quick, sure touches, rubbing against her, putting pressure against her clit until her body arches, her muscles tensing with her release.

He continues to press kisses to her neck, her shoulders, her upper back as she comes down from the release. She spins in his arms and presses her mouth to his as she turns them carefully, aware they can slip. The water pounds on his back now, and he finds that, like always, it releases some of his own stress knots. She pulls away and he's a little surprised when she turns to brace herself against the back wall. She bends, thrusting her ass at him and spreading her legs. His hands stroke over her backside and he leans over to press a kiss to the center of her back as he realizes a very important thing.

"Kate, I don't have a condom with me." He usually has more warning and he's usually more awake when they go at it in the shower and the thought hadn't even hit him.

"Pill," she breathes out over her shoulder. "Explanations later, Rick." She thrusts back at him. "Inside me now."

As if he could pull back after that. He trusts her, so he knows she's not lying and though the information takes him completely by surprise, he takes himself in hand and slides into her heat. He has to pause when he's seated in her completely because the feeling of her without the latex barrier is something that makes his head spin. Her head falls forward with the first push and she whines out a needy sound until he's inside her.

"Jesus," she groans out.

He's not sure he's ever going to want to use a condom again, not with how searing hot she is around his naked flesh and it takes him a minute to regain his brain power and remember to move. He slides out and back in, groaning as she pants beneath him and arches back further. His hands are on her hips and his fingers stroke over the nerves close to the surface on her hipbones. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, she's removed one hand from against the tile to slide between her legs and he knows by the way her body starts shaking that she's touching herself. That's enough for him and he groans as he presses into her heat one more time and holds himself there. He feels her flutter around him and hears her cry out her own release just as he's floating back to himself.

The next time he lathers up the loofah, it's for a cursory wash of her body. She returns the favour and they stumble to bed, him in a pair of boxers and her in one of his t-shirts. He kisses the top her head when they're comfortable.

"How long have you been on the pill?"

She hums for a moment. "A few months," she admits. "My doctor told me it would only take about seven days, but I wanted to be sure."

"Why?"

"Because of this." She kisses his chest, right over his heart. "Because I wanted to feel just you."

"How did you hide it?" he asks with a laugh, a little amazed and very much mind-blown.

She chuckles. "You sleep like the dead, Rick, and you're not an early riser."

"It felt… incredible."

She hums her agreement and cuddles in closer as his hand wraps around her thigh and pulls it across his body. "Sleep now. There'll be more than enough time to re-experience it over the weekend."

"What do you want to do?" he asks, watching her with admiring eyes.

"I want to go to the beach," she says after a moment, her voice fading a little. "The house in the Hamptons. Away from the city."

He's surprised and he has a feeling she knows. She's not one to leave on a whim, but he's not about to question the impulse. "We can be there in three hours if you have enough here to make it to Monday." He's including the hour they're going to need to get on the road and assuming the pieces of clothing she's left over the time since they've made their relationship official are enough for two days.

She leans up to press her mouth to his before snuggling back down and closing her eyes resolutely. "You make me coffee and breakfast, I'll take a look and see if I can make a bag out of my things."

"You won't need much," he says and he deliberately starts spinning a tale of a weekend of sin in the Hamptons with minimal clothing and lots of sex. She laughs in the beginning, slaps his chest gently at some of his more outrageous ideas, but he slowly starts spinning a more domestic tale of dinner together, morning coffee on the back patio, walks down the beach… And she lets the exhaustion take hold and drops off.

He looks down at the honey hair splayed over his arm and he smiles. She's an amazing woman and there's no question he has every plan to give her everything he can. Weekends away, stress relief, great sex… it doesn't matter. Because she's one of the biggest parts of his world. This strong, independent, amazing woman, along with a precocious redheaded teen make up everything to him and he's going to hold on as tight as he can.

She doesn't know it yet, at least not verbally, but he loves her and someday, hopefully soon, he's going to tell her.

* * *

_Remember I told you I'd add to this series if I got the inspiration? Would you laugh if I told you the inspiration for this came in the shower? Maybe to bring it full circle I should find a way to initiate them into the Mile High Club, huh? _

_But while I decide whether or not I can do sex on a plane, review?_


	7. Naked

**Naked**

It's Saturday evening at Casa del Castle 2.0 and she is contentedly resting back against Rick's chest as they look up at the stars. Alexis has decided to stay in New York for the weekend, reassuring them multiple times and with exasperated eyes that no, really, it was okay. Even the teenager knew they had been stressed over the weeks and she'd seemed completely understanding about their need to get away.

Her hands are stroking up and down his thighs, his are wrapped around her stomach and he's pressing periodic kisses to her shoulder. She sighs, relaxed for the first time in what feels like ages. She likes this kind of relaxing. It's different than what she used to do before they made their relationship official. Hell, even before they'd made their relationship official she'd spent time in the Castle loft and felt more relaxed there than she did watching old Disney movies in her apartment. There is something about the whole damned family that virtually sucks the tension from her muscles. Well, most of it anyway.

"You know, I really like this," he says as he strokes the tendrils that have fallen out from her bun where they've fallen on her neck, reveling in the goosebumps that rise across her shoulders.

"Like what?" There's a million things that he could mean because there's a million things that she likes about things between them, like the stroke of his thumb she can feel through her shirt, the feeling of his body behind hers, the quiet of their surroundings, only the waves for soundtrack.

"You," he answers easily and they both chuckle as she grants him a sweet kiss. "Having you here."

"I like being here," she tells him. She chews her lip for a moment, then plows on, "I like being with you."

It's the closest she can come to saying 'I love you' and he recognizes that with a wide smile. She's said it before but he likes hearing it. He likes hearing it a lot because it, more than anything, tells him that despite some of the things he does, she's not going anywhere. He likes the idea of her staying. One of his hands slips from her stomach to press a thumb against her right shoulder and she groans at the contact. He's digging into a rather persistent and chronic stress knot.

"You're tense."

She rolls her eyes despite herself. "No kidding."

He laughs. "We have a hot tub you know. Killer at getting out stubborn knots."

Oh, she is well aware there's a hot tub. This isn't the first time she's been to the Hamptons mansion after all. They'd spent Christmas here, her included with the exception of a foray to her father's house for Christmas Day and they'd spent plenty of time lounging in the warm water while snow covered the rest of the patio. She hates the cold but loves the snow and had reveled in the ability to experience both outside rather than in.

She actually whimpers slightly when he removes his hand and lips from her shoulder and he chuckles as he pulls her up with him. They make their way back up the beach and he takes great pleasure in trying to brush the sand from her ass. His eyes are heated when she looks back at him over her shoulder and she feels her body heat. It never ceases to amaze her that he can have her hot with a glance. She knows she does the same to him, but it's been a long time since just a look has resulted in liquid heat between her legs.

He leans down to kiss her as they hit the hallway just inside the back door. "I'm just going to check in with Alexis. I'll meet you back out here."

She heads to the bedroom and to the balcony beyond where they'd hung their swimsuits earlier in the day. She's more modest than he is and though she knows he would have no problem swimming without his suit, she's not quite ready for that.

_At least not during the day,_ she thinks as she chews her lip and eyes the fabric of her bikini. It's his favourite, and she knows that. It's the reason she made him stop off at her apartment to begin with. She forces herself to take a deep breath and do something daring. She pulls off her clothes and, after a minute, decides to hide her bathing suit. She knows he's going to be on the phone for a while so she knows she has time as she wraps a towel around her body and heads out to the tub.

She slides into the water with a contented sigh, turning the jets on high and letting them buffet more of the stress and a few of the tension knots from her back and shoulders. It's a good twenty minutes before he emerges from the house, swim trunks sitting low on his hips, his towel over his arm. He climbs in and shuffles over until he's beside her and she manages not to blush as he takes her in. His fingers come up to her neck and shoulder, following the line of her collarbone. She lifts her legs as he turns toward her, swinging them over his so they're comfortable. A shiver drills down her spine and it has everything to do with the gentle brush of his fingers along her skin.

"Your bathing suit ties behind your neck," he whispers into her ear. Her eyes flutter closed as his hand continues its journey down her front and finds the gentle swell of her breast under the water. His chuckle is low and it sends a pulse to her core.

"So you won't go swimming naked, but the hot tub is okay?"

His finger brushes along the side of her breast and she sighs, the hand closest to him sliding up his wet back until she can play with the hairs on the nape of his neck. "It's more a day and night thing," she allows herself to answer.

He hums and mouths her shoulder, reveling in the gasp she releases when he hits her pulse. He likes that he knows the secret spots on her body, the ones that make her gasp, squeak, moan, and he uses that to his advantage now. His fingers wander freely along her side while the other reaches out to tug on her hip. She's breathing heavily as she slides out of her seat and onto his lap. He's growing hard and she rubs against him just to feel him hitch and gasp. She presses her mouth to his, their tongues tangling as he sets his hands free and she follows suit.

His hands stroke up her back and around to cup her breasts, his thumbs stroking over her nipples. He pulls away and looks at her, bathed in shadow from the dark beach, but light from the porch lights of the house. It accentuates the darkness of her eyes, the depth of them and the glistening water on her shoulders. Her mouth opens slightly, her eyes closed as he toys with her breasts, working her up until she's rocking against him rhythmically. She's seconds from coming and they both know that, when he pulls away.

She whimpers in disappointment when he pushes her away and her eyes are glazed when they float open.

"We don't want to do this here," he says, his hands stroking her sides. "It'll be uncomfortable."

She arches an eyebrow, part of her wondering how he knows and part of her very much against knowing. But her mind is distracted when he slides her to the seat beside him and stands. The water sluices down his form and she finds herself licking her lips. He's not built in the celebrity sense of the word, with bulging muscles and six-pack abs but she likes his body. He climbs out of the tub and takes a moment to remove his trunks. He lays them over the back of a chair and returns to the tub to hold a hand out to her. She bites her lip for a moment, because she's about to get out of the tub naked and she still has reservations about that, but eventually she stands and takes his hand. She knows it's purely instinct that has him tightening his hand as she wobbles slightly because his eyes are taking in the entirety of her body. It's not by far the first time he's seen it, but he looks awed and a little gobsmacked.

"What is it?" she asks, a little self-consciously, even as she presses her wet body against his and winds her arms around his neck.

"You're breathtaking," he replies leaning down to seal his mouth to hers. "Utterly breathtaking."

She hums into his mouth and he starts walking her backwards. There's an outdoor set on the edge of the patio, one side bordered by trees, another by the house and the other two open to the deck. He pauses, his hands sliding down her back to cup her rear. Their tongues tangle as he takes a few more steps, then starts making his way down her body. She realizes what's going on when she finally pries her eyes open and looks down to see him sitting on the edge a lounge chair. Her fingers tangle in his hair as she forces his head to tilt back, leaning down to kiss him. She knows where he's going and she watches with dark eyes as he leans back, legs outstretched.

She climbs on top of him, her hands resting on the top of the chair beside his head for balance. She nestles her center against his hardness and they both moan at the contact. She grinds against him, unable to stop herself from rocking against his hips. He doesn't seem to mind because he's focused on kissing her breathless. It's not a difficult task for him to accomplish and his mouth heads to her neck and throat when she throws her head back to breathe. She forces herself to slow down, because he doesn't seem to be in a hurry and she has an irrational need to come with him. She allows her hips to keep rocking but slows the rhythm, forcing herself to focus completely on his mouth and how it trails down until he bites at her pulse. She's going to have a mark, but she has concealer and it's so rare that he loses control enough with her to leave a mark that she actually moans at the sensation.

"Kate," he moans as her hips speed up of their own volition. "I want to be inside you."

He grasps her hips and they stop moving while he positions himself and slides into her wet heat. They both groan at the first push, the pressure, the slide… She loves the feel of him inside her, of every ridge of his cock sliding against the sensitive nerves of her channel. Her head falls forward to rest on his shoulder and she stops moving, simply sitting there to absorb the feeling of his skin, of his breath against her neck, and most importantly, of him inside her. After a moment, she straightens her back and meets his gaze.

"You feel so good," she whispers and starts to move. "So good, Rick."

One of his hands spreads over the bottom of her spine as the other cups her cheek. He kisses her, his fingers sliding into her hair as she continues to rock against him. They're already close because of their teasing so it doesn't take long before he's tumbling over the edge. A few strokes of his thumb against her clit has her following, just barely managing to muffle her groan in his shoulder.

She only allows herself the chance to come down from the high before she climbs off him and heads for the towel he's left over the back of one of the chairs to wrap around her body.

"Hey," he says, his arms behind his head now, lounging naked on the chair. "You just ruined the view."

She shoots him another sly grin. "You can see it again if you can drag yourself up to bed."

She's already inside and just about to climb the stairs when his hands wrap around her hips. She pauses and looks back over her shoulder to see his boyish grin. She rolls her eyes, but drops the towel and he sweeps her into his arms and takes her to bed.

* * *

_Honestly, this exists solely because there were a handful of people that wanted to see the weekend in the Hamptons. I'm pretty sure this is going to be the only installment from that weekend (though that's not to say there won't be more from other Hamptons vacations) because I have the next one half written and I can tell you that it takes place back in New York. _

_And because it's half written it should actually be up in a couple of days. At least I'm kind of hoping._

_One more thing, I learned (I actually did Google this, for reality's sake) that it's not actually that safe to have sex in a hot tub. There's a number of issues with it and that's why they don't actually do the deed in the hot tub. Safety first!_

_Thanks to those of you who review and let me know you're enjoying this ride!_


	8. There

**There**

She's had an utterly terrible day. Everything that could go wrong has, every single thing. Well, almost every single thing. Everything but the man guiding her down the hall to the loft she's pretty much called home for the last two months. They haven't officially moved in, they haven't even discussed it, and she's glad for that, but she's got so much at his place sometimes she wonders…

She's had no control. Her case was stolen from under her nose by an FBI investigation – thankfully there was no Will involved or she probably would have lost it – she's been dealing with a lawyer that's stonewalled her at every turn and even her interactions with the lab and the medical examiners have felt like they're totally out of her control. And for a woman that lives on control in her professional life, it's been tearing her apart all day.

The only bright spot to her day has been him. He's been _extremely_ good today, not making stupid quips, staying away from the innuendoes, he hasn't even snuck a personal touch all day. His actions have been professional, but he's kept her coffee cup filled, her bowl of M&Ms stocked, and she's pretty sure he ran interference with the boys and the Captain more than once. He's kept her from losing it completely and she appreciates it more than she's pretty sure he realizes.

And it had started well too. She'd had fantastic morning sex, waking up to his mouth on her stomach, a gleam in his eyes she doesn't argue with. She'd had a quick shower and dressed while he made breakfast, taking the time to put on one of her more racy collections of lingerie because she's happy and because she can – and most definitely because she knows how much he likes the surprise – before heading down and sharing coffee and breakfast. He hit the shower while she finished skimming the paper and they'd gone into work together. No one bats an eye at their simultaneous entrance anymore and though they haven't come clean to the precinct yet, they both know everyone in the precinct has assumed they're together. She even caught Ryan doing a double take last week when he'd had a meeting and she'd come into the precinct by herself.

Alexis is at a Model UN conference in Seattle and Martha's been chattering away about a week in Atlantic City for a while, so she knows they have the entire loft to themselves. It's only that knowledge that has her body humming with energy as he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

Then she pounces.

Faster than the eye can track, she's got them both inside and the door closed in a flurry of clothing. His back is to the door, shock on his face and she allows herself to lean up and take his mouth in a searing kiss. He's still shocked, so it takes him a minute to respond, but she only lets herself enjoy it for a moment before tearing her mouth away. She makes quick work of his belt and fly.

"Kate, what's… God!"

Her hand is in his pants, taking his cock and pulling it out. She drops to her knees, her hand still stroking him and she can feel him going hard in her palm. She looks up at him from where she's kneeling and he's already panting, his eyes dilating in anticipation. She smiles, a slow dirty grin and he whispers an obscenity as she leans forward and takes him in her mouth. As she slides her mouth over him, her hands rise to shove his jeans and boxers down his legs. He groans loudly, a hand coming to slide through her hair and cup the back of her head. He's losing his brain cells, but she knows he's not quite mindless so when he starts to push on her skull, she resists. Her pace, her time.

Her control.

She doesn't often take control in the bedroom. Some would probably look at her and believe that she did, that she was so in control in her daily life that she would need to have the control in her sex life too. Sometimes, some men, she has needed to take control. But she trusts him, this man, _her _man and she's taken great pleasure in relinquishing the ropes of control she holds on a daily basis. But when she's had a day where _nothing_ has been in her control, she needs this kind of power trip, knowing she can reduce his brain to incoherent noises and animalistic grunts.

"Jesus, Kate. So good."

It's not the first time he's complimented her abilities and she hums in reward. His hips jerk without his conscious permission when she does and she feels the thrill of power and control race down her spine. This is what she needed.

He's segued into repetitions of her name, which is only a step away from where she wants him. She redoubles her efforts, focusing her attention on the head of his cock for a moment, licking him from base to tip, swallowing him until he hits the back of her throat… She knows she's got him where she wants him when his thigh shakes beneath the hand she's rested there. She relaxes her pace then, her hand coming up to cup his balls. It takes him a few minutes, but he's close enough to the edge to want it badly enough and he starts thrusting into her mouth. She relaxes as his other hand slides into her hair and works his balls while he slides in and out of her mouth.

It doesn't take long before he whispers her name as he climaxes. When he opens his eyes, she's already standing, stripping herself of her boots and socks. She leaves them where they fall, then starts up the stairs, undoing the buttons of the blouse as she goes. She stops in the middle, allowing the cotton fabric to fall to the floor, revealing the innocent white lace beneath. Except she isn't at all innocent, especially with the sly smile she sends him as a finger trails down the center of her body.

"I'll be in the bedroom when your knees can function again," she tells him, sliding that finger up to nibble on the fingernail. Then she paces herself up the last couple of stairs until she's sure she's out of sight. She knows him, so she knows she has about two minutes and makes quick work of her pants. She thinks about leaving them in the hall, then decides against it and settles them over the back of the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room. She pulls the comforter and the top sheet to the bottom of the bed before stretching out in the middle, arching as she feels his sinfully high thread count sheets against her skin.

He's in the bedroom a moment later, carrying most of his clothing and hers. He drops it all into the hamper behind the door as he pushes the door closed and makes his way towards her. His eyes are still dark and she grins. One of his hands traces her cleavage while the other supports his body as he lowers himself to the bed.

"Do you know how much I love it when you do that?"

She sighs as his fingers trace over the front clasp of the bra and arches into his fingers. He gets the hint and snaps open the clasp, allowing her breasts to tumble free of their confines. He brings his mouth into play, leaning down and enveloping a nipple in the wet heat of his mouth. She knows what he's doing, trying to distract her, and she fists one hand so her nails are digging into her palm to keep her grounded.

"What's that?"

He looks up at her in surprise and she realizes that her words were really as steady as she'd hoped. His hand comes up to her breast again and her body responds to the stimulation. He climbs onto the bed completely, straddling her body and leaning down to her. He kisses her lips lightly, then her cheek, then her ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue.

"It's like you can't wait for me," he whispers into her ear. "It's like you need to have me, right when we get in the door, like your desperate for it."

She pushes on his shoulder and he allows them to roll until she's spread on top of him, one of her legs between his. He raises his thigh and she tilts her hips. The pressure is perfect on the juncture of her thighs, but she doesn't move. Instead, she sets her mouth to his neck, shoulders and chest. His hand is stroking over her back, ghosting over the side of her breasts. Eventually, he slides his hands beneath her arms, nudging her up. She follows, curiosity in her gaze and he shifts his grip to her hips. She lets him guide her until she's straddling his face, looking down at heated sapphires.

"Rick…?"

"You want control, right?" he whispers, tugging her hips down. He slides his tongue lightly against her folds and she's struck with just how well he knows her to be able to pinpoint what her actions at the door meant. "You're in control."

She realizes as he sets his mouth to her that he's telling the truth. He keeps his hands on her hips, but doesn't direct her. Instead, it's in her hands. She controls the movements, shifting so his tongue hits her clit just right, whimpering her pleasure as her head tilts back. Her hips are moving of their own accord and he simply follows along, working her higher and higher.

"Rick."

"What Kate?" he murmurs. "What is it?"

"More."

He doesn't ask what she means, just slides two fingers inside and looks up at her. Her mouth is open slightly and her eyes are closed. But he can feel her body clenching around his fingers and knows she's close. He also knows that his fingers alone are not enough to send her flying over that proverbial edge. He knows exactly what she needs, exactly what she wants, but she's in control tonight so he won't do more than she asks of him. The fact that the needy thread in her voice turns him on is simply the proverbial cherry on top of his very delectable sundae.

"Rick," she whines as she rises and falls on his fingers.

"What Kate?" he says again and she stops moving, looking down at him. He sees the moment she catches on and she bites her lip. He tries not to grin. She has no problem asking – ordering – in her daily life but she has problems here. He's going to change it.

"You're in control," he reminds her, his words a murmur against her thigh. He starts to trail his mouth up, tiny, miniscule increments. His fingers don't stop moving and he knows her concentration is split. "You just have to tell me."

Her pupils dilate, bottomless pools of arousal as she snakes a hand down her body. "I want your mouth," she says as her hand reaches her hip, then slides inward. "Right… Here."

She shudders hard when her finger brush against her clit. There's a big part of him that wants to watch her, let her fuck herself on his fingers while her hand finds the rhythm she likes on her clit, but she's asked. He rears up, sliding his tongue between her fingers. She groans, her hand falling to the pillow beside his head. The other is braced on the wall and her eyes are closed. He works his tongue against her, sliding his fingers inside her, speeding up his pace. Her hips undulate against his mouth and she's making soft noises, her face screwing up with the onslaught. Then he sucks her into his mouth and she breaks apart above him.

He strokes her thigh as she comes back to herself and slides down his body. She curls against him, her hands sliding over his chest and stomach. He kisses her head. "You had a bad day."

"I had a terrible day," she responds. "An utterly terrible day." Then she leans up to kiss him, her tongue invading his mouth. "But you always know what I need."

He chuckles, his entire body shaking and jolting his slowly hardening cock against her. He's almost forty, so it takes him a little longer to recover, but he wants to be inside her. "I don't know. You certainly just took this time."

Her hand slides down his side, nails trailing over his skin. He shivers, then slams his eyes closed with a groan when she lifts to wrap her hand around him. "You didn't seem to mind."

"I still don't," he replies, breath quickening. "Feel free to use me as you see fit."

Her hand keeps moving as she hums into their kiss. "I might just do that."

One of his hands strokes down her back, over her ass. "Kate," he groans.

She carefully positions him, then sinks down only slightly. He arches, pushing into her a little bit more and she pulls away. She chuckles when he shoots her a glare and leans down.

"I'm in control," she murmurs as she kisses him.

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you can tease."

"I don't know," she says as she sinks onto him again. "Teasing implies that I have no intention of following through." Her eyes are dark as they look at each other, and she graces him with a dirty grin. "And I have _every_ intention of having you inside me."

And sure enough, she slides down all the way, until he's fully encased in her wet heat. They both groan at the feeling. His hands come to her hips, his fingers digging into the flesh slightly. She moves slowly, grinding as much as sliding up and down his length. He's surrounded by her and he wants nothing more than to lose himself in her. But her pace is torturously slow and she shows no signs of speeding up. Her hands are playing with her breasts, pinching her nipples while she rises above him.

"Kate," he says, waiting until she opens her eyes to meet his. "Faster."

She smirks. "I thought I was in control."

He growls as his head arches back into the pillows. "Kate, please."

She speeds up, marginally, but she does and his hand slides to rest against her lower stomach, his thumb sliding through her folds to stoke her clit. She's starting to lose it and he can tell because she's speeding up without knowing it now. And that is perfectly okay with him.

"Rick," she breathes, "Come with me."

"I will," he promises. "I will Kate, come on." He feels her body contract and watches her bite her lip. "Come on Kate."

He's watching carefully, waiting for that moment, waiting for her body to tense. She lets out a low whine when it does, her nails gouging unconsciously into his sides where they sit. He doesn't feel it though because he falls with her, groaning out his own release. She collapses against him and they stay that way, sticky with sweat until they gather their breath again.

"I need a shower," she murmurs when she can breathe normally. "We both need a shower."

He can't help himself, reaching down to pinch her ass gently. "Is that an invitation?"

"You know it's not," she replies with a roll of her eyes. Then she leans up to kiss him. "Will you make me popcorn?"

He lets her go with a playful frown. "Popcorn is not a suitable dinner for a detective that's been running around all day." He likes actually cooking for her because even after all this time she savours every bite. She's lived on take out so long it's like a treat every time. He stretches for a moment before following her path. She's in the shower, her head tilted back towards the spray. She loves his shower and he can see her muscles relaxing even more. He steps into the shower with her, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

"I thought I told you it wasn't an invitation," she scolds, even as she accepts a quick kiss.

"You have no faith," he defends. "I need a shower. That's all."

Sure enough, he simply washes himself quickly, and after doing her the same favour, touched that she lets him, he leaves her in the steamy water and heads downstairs. She'll be another ten minutes, he knows that from experience and so he pulls out a few apples and cuts them up. He adds some cheese and is on the couch with both of those and her popcorn when she pads down the stairs. No matter what he may think of her diet, he can't deny her much when he knows she's had a crappy day. He looks over at her from his channel surfing as she settles against him and they're silent while they work through the food. He's stroking his hand down her arm when he speaks.

"I've been thinking."

"About what?" she answers, cuddling herself a little closer. She's not always a supreme snuggler, but after a bad day, even she's not above admitting the comfort and reassurance his arms provide.

He presses a kiss to her temple as he stands and heads to a drawer in the kitchen, reaching for a small piece of metal. He brings it back to her, turning it over and over in his hand as he stands over her. She watches him, her forehead wrinkled in confusion and curiosity. When he sits again, he holds the key out in front of them.

"Rick," she whispers, a warning note in her voice.

He chuckles, kissing her head again. He likes that she lets him do that. It's affectionate and he really likes being affectionate with her. "It's not what you think."

"It's a key."

"Okay, so it's exactly what you think," he teases. He focuses on the little piece of metal again.

She sighs. "Rick, I can't move in with you."

"I'm not asking you to," he replies, and there's honesty and sincerity in his voice. She's not ready to move in and he knows that, even if half of her clothing and a duplicate of all of her toiletries are scattered throughout the loft. "But I do want you to feel at home here and that includes having access whenever you need it, even if it's three in the morning."

How he knows that she doesn't come over when she's worked a long shift because she doesn't want to knock on the door and disturb him, she doesn't know. She is, however, relieved he's not asking of her more than she can give. She doesn't want to tell him no when he does ask, but she doesn't want to lie and tell him yes when she's not ready. She reaches out, taking the key from his hand and settling against him again. It's patterned, not normal gold or silver and she raises a bemused eyebrow.

"Alexis," he responds and pauses for a moment before going on, "It was her idea." He rolls his eyes at himself when she looks confused and maybe a little hurt. "I know you're not ready to move in, Kate," he explains quietly. "But we do want you here. I'm willing to wait until you're ready. Alexis just wanted to make sure you had the right incentive."

It hits her then, how entrenched she is in his life and in his daughter's. It touches her that Alexis is so adamant she feel welcome in the loft, feel like it's a home to her. She does feel like it's home, in many, _many_ ways, but she's still not totally sure. Even the revelation of how much they mean to her, how much she means to them, isn't enough to have her impulsively agreeing. She doesn't do anything on impulse and this is no different. And, she realizes, this is Alexis' blessing. The redhead's known about their relationship for a 's difficult not to notice with all the time they spend together.

She stands, heading for the door and the purse she'd dropped there. From within, she pulls her key ring and heads back to the couch. She looks at both items before handing them to him. "I'm crap at putting keys on," she explains softly, though there's more in her gaze. Agreement, bemusement, maybe even awe war in the depths of the brown he loves. She drops back to the couch and curls against his side, watching his long fingers make quick work of putting the key on her ring. She takes it back from him when it's securely on, singling it out with a smile. She looks up at him. He's watching her fingers trace the key.

"I do feel at home here," she says. "I just had a terrible day, but… it's better now."

It's a massive admission coming from her so he just holds her a little bit closer. He's glad he can be there for her, glad he can help her, glad he can give her what she needs. And he's almost positive that there will come a day where she won't feel like she needs to keep her own place, where she feels comfortable enough in their relationship to share a home with him and his daughter. He has faith in that, so he's okay that all she's willing to accept is the key. Someday, she will be willing to accept more.

* * *

_1) This is 3630 words according to the site. Its LONG_

_2) I've said to some of you that I'm going to bend this back to the genuine emotion, the exploration, the deep thoughts... But I didn't do that deliberately here. This took on a life of it's own. I like it though, much to my own surprise. _

_I think that's it! Until next time!_


	9. Public

**Public**

It's date night.

They don't get it often, an actually planned date beyond dinner at a nearby diner. Sometimes they manage a date night at his apartment or hers, sometimes with homemade food, sometimes just take out, but more often than not, they can't have actual dates. It's a combination of things, her job, her worries, her privacy, and he's understanding of that. They've talked about it, more than once, and he knows that when he makes reservations and their broken because of a case, it's not deliberate on her part. This time, however, there's no case, and they're actually going out.

He'd been excited all day. Wired for the entirety of the day to the point where she'd actually kicked him out of the precinct with a pretty blush and an amused smile so she could actually get enough work done to get to the date. He's amused when he arrives at her apartment door and she isn't been ready to go. His woman is on time, punctual almost to a fault and to see her running late, flustered because she wants to look good for him and for their date warms his stomach with a heavy dose of affection. Still, he smiles widely and offers her the bouquet of daffodils and daisies.

"Hey. Sorry I'm…"

She trails off and pauses, already half turned around and he knows she's caught sight of the flowers. That pretty blush spreads across her cheeks again, and he can see it under the makeup she's applied. She's shoeless and she's wearing the white gold heart pendant he presented her with for Valentine's Day. She doesn't wear it often because it's Tiffany and she loves it too much to risk getting it stolen or broken at work. He moves the flowers to one hand and reaches out to slide his fingers over the pendant with the other. Her body shudders and she reaches out to grasp his wrist.

"Are those for me?" she asks quietly.

He grins as she reaches for them with both hands. "Of course they are."

She's absolutely girly when she lifts them to her nose and her eyes flutter closed as she takes a deep breath. His grin widens as he steps inside and pushes her door closed behind him. Her eyes are sparkling when they open. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replies as he steps closer and leans down. Her head tilts back and she lets him kiss her sweetly. His hand strokes down her back. "Are you going to be long?"

He kisses her again when she shakes her head, allowing his tongue to slip into her mouth. Her arm wraps around his neck and he feels her fall into the kiss. It's one of the things he loves best about her. She's controlled during the day, but when it comes to them, together, she allows her control to slip. She sinks into the feel of the kiss quickly, and she's done it with more ease as they've cemented their relationship. She laughs into his mouth as his hand strokes down her back to cup her ass.

"I'm not going to be that quick, Rick," she whispers. Then she's turning away, heading into the kitchen and he's glad for the moment of reprieve. She's already magnificent, dressed in a knee-length green piece of what he wants to say is silk, but knowing her is probably satin. The dress hugs her breasts and waist without clinging like a second skin but then falls elegantly and easily to a lace-trimmed hem. It's obvious to him that she understands the repercussions of the night and he's equal parts flattered and thankful. Flattered, because it's _his_ arm she's going to be on tonight and she's put on the dress for him and thankful that she's putting aside her fears of losing the privacy of her life to be seen with him outside of their usual work routines.

He hears her rooting around in her cupboards and heads to her bookshelf. His books are all there, lined in chronological order. They include _Heat Wave_ and _Naked Heat_ and she's going to be getting another one shortly. He smiles at the collection. Simply owning them isn't enough of an indication of how much of a fan she is and it's almost become their game every time his writing comes up. She gives him clues without meaning to. He's pretty sure she doesn't have 'Castle' in her name on the fansite, nor a number. She's posted, he knows that by how vehemently she denies ever doing it. And he knows she still goes on because she says things that only site members would know.

He turns with a smile as her hand runs down his back and he realizes her daffodils and daisies have taken up a prominent place on her coffee table.

"I just have to grab my earrings and my shoes and then I'll be ready to go."

He leans down to briefly press his mouth to hers before he watches her head off towards her bedroom. There's a sway in her hips that makes him laugh slightly because he knows she's doing it just to bother him. He's not bothered and his eyes fall to the daisies and daffodils again. He walks over to them and fingers the petals. They were happy flowers. He'd originally planned for roses, but the pure white and bright yellow caught his eye before he'd ordered the roses.

"Okay."

He looks up and allows his gaze to slowly slide up from the black pumps adorning her feet up her bare legs and over the dress again. She's wearing delicate heart drop earrings that match her necklace and he smiles.

"You're missing something."

She cocks her head to the side and he pulls one of the daffodils from the vase, breaking off the long stem. Her hair is twisted up and he delicately manages to thread the flower through the pins without dislodging them. He presses a kiss to her shoulder as his hands rest on her hips.

"Gorgeous," he murmurs against her skin.

"Thank you," she murmurs in response as she turns in his grip.

He can see the nerves in her eyes and he strokes over her sides slowly, trying to reassure her. "You ready?"

"Yeah," she replies, determined. "Let's go."

She's surprised when he leads her to a car parked on the street and he's the one to get into the driver's seat. He doesn't like to drive in New York, but he wants her to feel comfortable and he wasn't sure if having another stranger in on their night would be that helpful. Plus, he likes having her to himself, even for something as simple as a car ride. They trade banter, as they usually do, her slim hand encased in his on the middle console. She teases him about that too, about the control he has over the wheel.

"I like touching you," he murmurs as he carefully lifts her hand to his mouth to press a kiss against the back. "Sometimes I have to remind myself that you're actually with me."

She's a little surprised by the comment. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He laughs, telling her that what he's about to say he understands as flaws that she's already accepted. "You constantly remind me that I'm a child, that I can't take things seriously. You've made no secret of how much I annoy you and I know, as much as you try and hide it, the publicity you've gotten on the job is my fault."

"But you're sweet," she replies, her thumb stroking over his hand, her eyes locked on his profile. "You pull my pigtails and you force me to forget about the death. You keep me on my toes and you're incredibly helpful in keeping my thought processes going when I'm trying to put a case together. And you treat me right, Rick."

"You think I do?"

"You do," she nods. "I'm lucky."

And once again he's floored. He's not quite sure what to say to that because it comes down to the fact that there's still a big part of him that's surprised his extraordinary muse has chosen _him_ out of all of the men in New York and the free world. She's chosen him, the man-child, but the man-child that makes her life lighter, that pulls her pigtails, that makes sure she doesn't get swamped by the things she sees on a day to day basis. He's the one that thinks he's lucky, that knows he's won the jackpot by somehow wooing the spectacular woman beside him.

They're silent for the rest of the ride to the elegant restaurant he's chosen as the venue to show her off. He squeezes her hand and asks her to wait, then jogs around the car to open the door for her. She rolls her eyes, and he expected it, but takes his hand and lets him pull her out of the car. Once she's out he tosses the keys to the valet before pulling her close and pressing his mouth to hers. She's lost immediately and his palm is cupping her face when he pulls away.

"I'm sorry, because that's going to be over the front page of everything tomorrow, but… Kate, _I'm_ the lucky one."

She's blushing, but she doesn't argue and they walk hand-in-hand up to the restaurant. She rolls her eyes again when she reaches for the door and he grasps her hand before she can reach it. He holds it open for her and his hand immediately presses against the small of her back when they both get through the door. They're seated immediately and they talk in low intimate tones over dinner. His eyes tell her everything he's feeling, and she's flattered by the awe residing there. He watches her react to the people who come and greet them. She's gracious when he introduces her, and manages not to snap at anyone when they bring up Nikki Heat. She also avoids any direct conversation about her job and he gracefully reminds their flow of impromptu guests that they're there for dinner together within minutes of their arrival and the profuse apologies that follow make her laugh.

Over dessert he leans forward, holding out a forkful of chocolate cake he'd ordered over her protests. It's sinfully good and she's attacked it with a gusto that makes him smile. He's nibbled at it and he watches her as she leans forward and takes his fork in her mouth.

"You know," he says quietly. "I never thought I'd ever be feeding you chocolate cake, looking at you in a dress that I can't wait to get you out of and getting quite a view."

She blushes, but her eyes heat and she leans forward after she's swallowed the cake. "I never thought I'd be sharing chocolate cake with you, after a rather fantastic date, voluntarily subjecting myself to the myriad of rumours that are likely to sprout up tomorrow, anxious for you to take me home and get me out of this dress. Which is why, if you notice, I'm not wearing anything underneath."

His eyes widen and it's minutes before the cheque shows up on the table. She sits back primly, knowing better than to argue about paying and sure that seeing the bill would give her heart attack. She's looking for a heart attack of a different sort and she tries not to grin when his eyes fall to her legs as she slides out of the booth. He whispers everything he wants to do to her in her ear as they wait for the valet to bring the car around and she presses her body against his.

His foot is a little heavier on the gas as he pulls away from the restaurant and she waits until she's sure there's no way there's a photographer around before reaching out and taking one of his hands from the steering wheel.

"Kate." He tightens his grip on the wheel.

There's a warning tone in her voice that she ignores as she tugs on his wrist until he finally lets go. Then she's sliding it up the smooth skin of her thigh, her other hand sliding up and down her cleavage. His desire skyrockets at how daring she's being and he bites down on his cheek as she continues to slide his hand up her inner thigh. She wasn't kidding when she told him she wasn't wearing anything beneath the dress and he can feel the heat of her as she slides her fingers between his as they reach the apex of her thighs.

"Kate."

"That wasn't as bad as I thought," she murmurs, though her eyes flutter closed as she pushes one of his fingers between her folds. She's soaking wet and he loves that he can do that to her.

He swallows though, because he realizes that she intends to have a conversation. A coherent conversation. It's cruel of her, because she knows how distracted he gets when it comes to her. And _he's_ the one that has her this wet, whether it's because they've been teasing each other all night or because of the dirty things he'd whispered in her ear, he's not quite sure. But he starts sliding his finger through the wetness, from her entrance to her clit. It takes all of his will power to steer his mind back to the conversation and the road and keep it focused on something other than the heat of her.

"What wasn't?" he asks, looking over at her when they stop at a red light to find her eyes closed, her head back against the headrest. The daffodil is getting flattened, but one hand is clenched on the door and her other one is still entwined with his. He's not sure if it's the fact that he knows she's not wearing underwear or the fact that it's her fingers as well as his between her thighs that makes his pants uncomfortable, but he's not sure he cares. He slides his finger against her clit and watches her breath stutter.

"Tonight. I figured we'd be swamped by photographers asking intrusive questions." Her voice is breathy but steady and he's surprised that she's keeping her cool so well. It doesn't usually take long for him to have her a moaning, melting pile of flesh, and he knows that she's feeling everything _their_ fingers are doing to her. She slides her fingers from his though, wrapping them around his wrist. He allows his fingers to slide into her body, two because he knows she's wet enough, and her hips arch into his hand.

"It's the restaurant," he answers, and he doesn't bother to hide the heat in his voice. "They take very good care of their patrons. But there will still be pictures." His fingers start moving, searching until her whole body stiffens for a split second. He knows that spot and he grins predatorily as he continues to slide the pads of his fingers against it.

"I can deal with pictures," she says, though it takes her longer this time. Her thoughts are scattering like the wind and she groans when he slides his fingers out just moments before she's about to fall over that proverbial edge. "You're a jerk."

He laughs low in his throat as his finger strokes between her clit and her entrance again. "We'll have to see what the precinct is like on Monday."

She hums her agreement. "They already know." Her breath hitches as his fingertip slides over her clit.

"Not officially. They've never said anything." He strokes her clit again. It was only a couple more blocks to her apartment.

"But they know," she responds. "You can tell."

He chuckles. "Yes, yes you can. They really haven't been subtle about it."

"They're just waiting for us to come clean about it so they can rub it in our faces that they've known forever." She rocks her hips into his hand, trying to encourage him to move it again. But he doesn't, just continues to slide lightly over her folds.

It isn't until they turn onto the street with his building that he slides his fingers back into her and presses insistently against her clit. She blows as he pulls to a stop in front of his building. He pulls his fingers from between her thighs and grins. She's a little wobbly on her feet when he helps her out of the car and she shoots him a half hearted glare when he tucks her close to his side.

"That wasn't playing fair."

"Since when do I play fair?" he points out.

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling as they walk through the lobby. The elevator is empty and he pulls her against him once they're inside, her back to his front. "You don't play fair," he murmurs against her skin, "Telling me you've got _nothing_ on under that dress, letting me feel you… You pulled a dangerous stunt."

Oh she knows that. She knows that, but her head is still foggy and he's pressed against her back and right now she's not sure she cares. They're safe, and that's what matters. She pushes against him as his hand creeps up her stomach and the elevator dings its arrival just as he's brushing his fingers against the undersides of her breasts. They make their way to the loft and he unlocks the door. Alexis is nowhere in sight, having notified them of her intention to spend the night in her room, but they make their way up to the master bedroom regardless. She's chewing her lip as he gives them enough room to step in before closing the door and backing against it.

"Nervous?"

She laughs. "Do I have a reason to be?"

"No," he agrees, kissing her warmly. "We've been here before."

Now her laugh is genuine as she steps into his body, her arms wrapping around his waist. His stroke up and down her bare arms as he leans down to press his mouth to hers. It's an easy kiss, but she can feel him against her stomach and knows it won't stay that way. Not that she had any intention of that in the first place. He reaches behind her, his hands sliding up her back, then back down again.

"Kate," he whispers against her lip, nipping at her chin. He nibbles gently at her throat, urgent to feel her bare beneath his hands. "Zipper."

She grins, her eyes closed and head still tilted back. "There isn't one."

He groans against her neck then slides one of the straps out of the way. His mouth skips over her shoulder, light, teasing kisses as he trails down her collarbone. Her body arches into his, bending backwards, supported by her arms around his neck and the single hand spreading across the small of her back. He pulls her back up against him, fusing his mouth to hers while he quickly pushes down the other strap, the dress pooling around her hips for a moment before dropping to the floor. They pause then, even though she's completely naked except for the heels on her feet and he plants his hands on her hips, pushing her back a step and taking her in. She's almost flawless pale skin, splattered with the scars that tell of the life she's led.

She slides her hands up his arms slowly, coyly. "You're overdressed."

"Did you just use a line on me?" he asks, even as he drops his jacket while she deals quickly with the buttons of his shirt. Both flutter to the ground and neither of them really seem to care about it. It takes her all of thirty seconds to deal with his belt and pants though she holds the edges and steers them towards the bed. Once they're at the edge, she lets his pants fall, pressing against him fully. She pushes him back after an intense kiss, then climbs onto the bed behind him.

"Shoes and socks," she whispers in his ear, pressing her breasts against his back as she settles back on her heels. He unties the laces of his right shoe quickly and it drops to the floor. Her mouth takes his earlobe in her mouth before she licks just behind his ear. He moans as he whips his sock off his foot and his fingers stutter over the laces on his other shoe. She slides her hands around his torso, rubbing his skin, trailing her fingernails over his nipples and she laughs wickedly when his hands stumble on the lace of his shoe. He all but rips his last sock off, and she squeaks when he spins quickly. It takes some quick adjustment to make sure she doesn't dislocate anything, but then he's on top of her, pressing against her and there's nothing but him in her vision as he brings his mouth savagely to hers.

His hands are everywhere on her, sliding down the delicate skin of her breasts, stroking over her hips and the sensitive nerves close to the surface. Her hips arch at his touch and he releases her lips to race down her neck. He sucks on a spot just above her nipple and though she arches against him, she knows he's going to leave a mark. It feels so good though and she's pretty sure he's smart enough even now to leave the hickey where it can't be seen. His hand slides inwards from her hip, twisting until his palm rests just below her belly button, his fingers sliding through her curls. He doesn't do anything else, however, just leaves it there, stroking the sensitive skin and making her moan and whimper.

Then he takes a nipple in his mouth and her hips arch. He laughs and presses down with his hand on her stomach before using his weight instead. It put his cock in line with her wetness and he released her breast as his body tensed. God she was wet. Her legs rose up to cradle his pelvis with hers, wrapping around him. One of the heels she still wore dug into his thigh and he rose up to kiss her soundly. One of her hands ran through his hair, the other slid down his body, over his ass and managed to squeeze between them. Then, she was guiding him into her and they both paused when he was seated to the hilt.

He looked up at her after a moment, his eyes liquid blue and heated. He kissed her cheek gently, sliding his cheek along hers. "This is my favourite part," he whispers and starts to move.

She moves with him, easily because they've been doing this for a while and she sighs when he angles his hips. One of her hands comes up to push against his cheek until she can look him in the eye, pulling his forehead to rest against his. Their warm breaths mingle in the air between them and he watches her eyes flutter closed as he hits a particularly pleasurable spot before opening again.

"Almost there," she whispers, kissing him quickly, catching his bottom lip between her teeth. "Almost…"

He feels her fluttering around him and has to bury his head in her neck as she stiffens with a strangled cry. He lets go then, immediately following her over and collapsing on top of her. She holds him there, her arms shaking but wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He doesn't have anywhere else he wants to be, so he settles in, balancing some of his weight against his arms and some against his legs so he's not crushing her.

"This makes it real," she says after a moment.

He lifts his head from where it had dropped to the pillow beside her ear. "Sorry?"

She blows out a long breath. "Sharing it with the world… this is real, Rick."

"It's always been real," he responds, confused. He slides his arms around her, one under her neck and one under her back, holding her to him as he rolls. He takes some comfort in the fact that her arms are still wrapped tightly around him, like she never wants to let him go.

"That's not what I mean," she sighs as she settles against his chest, rearranging herself until she's pressed an ear against him. She takes comfort from his heartbeat against her ear. "We have to share this. It's not just a rumour, it's not just you and me."

"It's always just you and me," he tries to reassure her, understanding that she's talking about the infiltration of the paparazzi in their privacy. Well, in _her _privacy. "It was time, Kate."

"I know," she replies, rubbing her hand over his stomach. "I don't regret it. It's just… real." Then she looks up at him, a smile floating over her face. "But I'm pretty sure I can get used to it."

* * *

_4248 words later (and the hilarity of the Abraham Lincoln scene from Battle at the Smithsonian) and we have another installment. A LONG installment._

_The next one is my absolute favourite..._


	10. Only

**Only**

She's angry at him and he sighs as he follows her into the bedroom of his Manhattan loft. They've just returned from a book party, formal attire, and she's been giving him the cold shoulder since he went to collect her coat. She'd snapped at him in the car about flirting with everything in a skirt and it's turned from a rational discussion into an all-out fight he doesn't want to have. He's hung up their coats now and he tosses his tux jacket onto the bed as she kicks her fantastically high heels, that he's sure made her legs look miles long beneath the long skirt of her dress, into the closet. He steps up behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her.

"I flirt to sell books, Kate," he says as his palms smooth up and down her bare arms. The royal blue silk garment is strapless, leaving her athletic arms bare to him.

She snorts as she moves away from his touch, heading towards his dresser. "And how many have graced your bed since," she shoots back.

She's pulling her earrings out with angry, shaking fingers but she hasn't stormed out and he's pretty sure she won't. She likes it at the loft and though he is a cocky SOB on a regular basis, he's not arrogant enough to think it's solely about him. He knows it has everything to do with the atmosphere of the place, the feeling of belonging and family. It's a safe place for her where there's no demands and no expectations. She doesn't have to be strong, she doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to. Here, she has no need to put on one of the masks she wears on a day-to-day basis. He likes that idea. A lot.

He sighs as he moves towards her again, gently batting away the fingers struggling with the catch of the necklace she wears. He keeps one hand on her shoulder as he places the necklace on the dresser to keep her from moving away.

"Before you?" he asks, bringing them back to her question of how many fangirls he's slept with. "Not as many as you may think. Have I had one-night stands, yes, but just because the press gets a picture of me with a starlet on my arm doesn't mean I've slept with her."

There's a part of her that feels terrible about asking about this because she's not sure she wants all the answers she's looking for and she doesn't want him to feel like she doesn't trust him. She does trust him, probably too much, but she's spent the evening watching him flirt with other women. She trusts him, but she's feeling insecure. Still, she lets him deal with the zipper of her dress and hopes her voice doesn't sound vulnerable and small when she asks, "And after me?"

"After we met," he begins, placing careful emphasis on the timeline, "nothing much changed. I'm not going to lie and say I turned into a monk the moment I met you. You turned me down so fast and so many times I went looking for companionship elsewhere to try and get you out of my head."

She's inordinately pleased with the honesty and she hangs up her dress and picks up the tux jacket he tossed onto the bed when he'd followed her tantrum into the bedroom. She hangs it up too as he strips down and she heads to the bathroom to remove her makeup. He hangs the rest of the formal suit up in the meantime and she's not really surprised when he joins her, leaning against the door frame to the bathroom wearing only his boxers.

"There was no one else when we started sleeping together."

The brief pause in removing her makeup is the only indication of her surprise. Really, she knows him well enough that it _shouldn't_ have surprised her, that she should have known despite the lack of relationships their 'whatever' would be exclusive. He's not the cheating type, as faithful as a puppy and she should have known that would extend to sexual relationships. Either way, pleasure shoots through her system at the revelation and it's obvious in the way her body heats with a flattered blush.

"I didn't stop looking," he admits, stepping into the room as she pats her face dry, "but I most certainly stopped wanting them."

His hands fall to her hips as she sets the towel aside and she leans back into his chest. He's just admitted something huge and she licks her lips before saying, "There was no one for me either."

His fingers move in feather touches over her sides, swirling around and over her stomach in absent patterns. "I don't want anyone else, Kate," he says, pressing more fully against her back so she can feel him hardening against her ass. "Want to know why?"

She doesn't take compliments well, and usually avoids them, but she's just insecure enough to nod her agreement. Her eyes slide closed as his fingers continue to trace softly over the skin between the edge of the simple royal blue satin strapless bra and the lacy waistband of the matching panties. One of his hands comes up to slide against the elegant arch of her nose and she chuckles slightly as he taps the tip playfully.

"I know for a fact you didn't notice my nose first, Rick," she teases and his hand floats down to her waist again.

"You remember what I noticed first?" There's a pleased surprise in his voice that makes her smile.

"My eyes," she replies softly and his smile widens.

"Well, your attitude actually," he corrects. "Bossy, take-charge hardass cop that didn't fawn all over my feet."

She laughs a little. "You like that I don't treat you like the king of the world."

"All I care about," he replies, pressing a kiss against her jaw, "is that I'm the king of _your _world."

"Mmm, maybe not the king," she says, rolling her eyes but playing along, raising one hand to tangle in his hair while the other weaves between his fingers of one hand on her stomach. "Definitely the prince though."

He chuckles as he nuzzles her ear, earning a pleased sigh. "I guess I'll have to accept that." His free hand traces the bottom edge of her bra as he says, "Do you know why I noticed your eyes first?"

She just waits for his reply, watching his fingers guide hers over her stomach.

"They are… intoxicating." His breath slides down her neck and she shivers. "You have an excellent poker face, and one I've lost more than my fair share of money to, but if I'm really stuck and I need to know what's going on in that fantastic head of yours, your eyes always tell me. I always lose myself in them."

His mouth trails down her neck. "Do you know why I love the skin of your neck?"

The question is a sudden change in topic, but she rolls with it, her breath speeding up as her fingers clench in his hair. She shakes her head slightly.

"You have this spot," he continues, glancing in the mirror to meet those gorgeous eyes. "This spot right…"

Her body tenses and she whimpers as he gently digs his teeth into the skin just in front of her pulse point. She'll have to remember in the morning to check for a bruise, but it feels _so good._ He chuckles at the reaction.

"It's your favourite."

"What makes you so sure?" she breathes, even as she grips him tighter from the weakening of her knees.

"Beyond your reaction?" he chuckles. "Experience. I've spent a long time getting to know your body, Kate."

There was no doubt in her mind about that and it had been a long pleasurable time. He had a single-minded determination to learn about her, to understand her, and she was pretty sure that every once in a while, he competed with himself to see if he could bring her orgasm faster, or more often, or see how many ways he can find that would prolong her pleasure. Usually, she didn't much care because it was _so worth it_.

His fingers moved now, the hand still holding hers sliding up her body until it covered a satin-clad breast. "You have soft skin too, some of the softest skin I've ever felt," he murmurs into her ear, kissing her shoulder as he kneads her breast with both his fingers and hers. "But the best is when I wake up and you haven't been gone long. Your smell is still in the sheets, in the pillow. Cherries and you and if I'm really lucky, I can smell you on my skin too."

She moans quietly, her head falling back and eyes sliding closed. His other hand, the one free of hers, slides into the cup of her bra, withdrawing the sensitive globe from its satin cover. His fingers slide over the already hardening nipple with a light touch as her back bends, trying to get more pressure, more of his touch, _more_. She whimpers in disappointment when he slides both hands from her body, her hands resting back on the counter in front of her. Her bra loosens and she realizes his motives as the cups fall away. He tosses the fabric out the bathroom door and doesn't hide his admiration of her bare breasts.

He's watching her carefully now, one of his hands coming up to slide against her bottom lip. She opens her mouth and sucks his finger inside and he gasps. It doesn't take a genius to realize what he's thinking about as his eyes darken and he slides another finger between her lips. He slides them out of her mouth and his hand floats down over her skin, coming to a stop at her nipples. His fingers are damp with her own saliva and though it isn't the same as his mouth on her, the warm wetness allows her to imagine it.

"You know what I thought tonight when I saw you in that gown?"

"I have an idea," she answers, lifting one of her hands to guide the movements of his other hand on her breast.

"That I was damn lucky," he replies, his voice a low rumble in her ear. She believes him, because she can remember the look on his face when she'd come down the stairs. She and Alexis had taken over the guest bedroom to get ready and as clichéd as it was to make her grand entrance, it had been worth it to see his stunned reaction to the royal blue silk.

"You pulled out all the stops tonight, Kate. That dress showed off your collarbones and your shoulders and you know how much I love licking my way along that skin. I had the hardest time keeping my hands and lips off you every time I was close to you. And it hugged all of these gorgeous curves." His hands leave her breasts to palm her sides, running slowly from breasts to hips. "They haunt my dreams, Kate. You're slim without being anorexic, trim and athletic and _flexible_."

His emphasis on the last word reminds her of some of the more adventurous nights together and she moans at the images it evokes. The tips of his fingers slip under the edge of her panties, tugging them until they pool at her feet. She tries to turn then, but he grips her hips and presses her into the counter enough that she can't move.

"Nuh uh," he says, licking at her earlobe as he picks up one of her hands again. "Watch."

Her eyes lock on their entwined hands, his palm warm against the back of hers. His feet nudge her legs apart and he slips their hands between her thighs, using her fingers to brush against her clit. She's wet and he briefly inserts the tips of their pointer fingers into her opening to drag out some of that wetness across the bundle of nerves at the tip.

"You always feel so good," he breathes into her ear, and she knows he's just as aroused as she is by the black of his eyes. They're dark, heated and she feels the lust spike through her system. There's no doubt that he wants her, it's all there in his gaze, just like it is in the lines and hardness of his body. Her eyes are fixed on the hand between her thighs and the feeling of her own wetness. Watching brings a new kind of pleasure as he uses her fingers as well as hers. He slides their pointer fingers in her and she moans, low and long. After a few strokes he guides another finger in, sliding hers with it. She's fingering herself while he is and she's having a hard time breathing with all the sensation.

"Do you feel that?" he whispers. "Do you feel how your clit hardens? How your body responds to my touch and yours? Do you know how that makes me feel, Kate, to know that you're hot and wet for me?"

She whimpers, tossing her head back against his shoulder. He nibbles down her neck for a moment as their fingers continue to move inside her. He lifts his head and takes her in, smiling at the wanton look on her face, the way her eyes clench shut. He loves her like this, lost in pleasure.

"Can you feel it coming?" he asks her. "Can you feel how your walls start to flutter? How you start to clench against our fingers? That's what it feels like to be inside you. It's like nothing else in the world, Kate."

She's moving against his fingers and hers, faster and it's her thumb that slips beneath the movements of their hands to flick at her clit until she cries out, her body tensing and arching forward. He watches her in the mirror, the flush on her chest, the thrust of her breasts and her mouth open from her cry. She releases slowly, slumping back against him as she pants heavily. Slowly, her eyes flutter open and he waits until they meet his before bringing their still entwined fingers to his mouth. He cleans off her hand, sucking his fingers and hers into his mouth, licking her taste off of their skin. He's hard against her ass and he knows now it's his turn.

He replaces her hand on the counter while his come to her hips, one sliding down one of her thighs to her knee. He lifts her leg, opening her up to him, and rests it on the counter. She shifts slightly, leaning forward over the sink and letting her head fall forward, her eyes slipping closed. He doesn't like this and gently cups her chin, bringing her face back up so he can see it in the mirror.

"Open your eyes, Sweetheart," he commands and smiles at her in the mirror when she does it. "Keep them open. Watch."

_Oh God_, she thinks, because she knows exactly where this is going and she's not sure she can actually watch. Hell, all too often she simply can't keep her eyes open with the sensations pouring through her body from his touch and the feeling of him inside her. He takes himself in hand, lining himself up and then all they can both focus on is that first sweet slick slide into her body. He moans at the feeling.

"So good, Kate. God. Hot and wet around me."

She's so turned on by watching them in the mirror, her eyes locking with his as he starts to move. The slide is deep and delicious and he's hitting all of her nerve endings until she's barely able to function, let alone think. This is what she loves best, the fact that he can reduce her world to nothing but him. It makes almost everything else worth it.

"Rick," she moans, allowing all of the heat, lust and arousal she's feeling to show on her face. He leans down, running his tongue along the left side of her spine and she feels the knot in her stomach coil tighter as her back arches. That changes the angle and she cries out with the feeling, her eyes floating closed briefly before flying open again. Rick's back to watching her eyes, her face.

"Fuck me," she whispers.

His eyes dilate and his hands tighten their grip on her hips. His thrusts come faster, stronger and she's jolted forward each time. He leans forward, wrapping an arm around her torso and pulling her up and back so he can see her body in the mirror in front of them. This is where her flexibility comes in handy and her eyes fall immediately to the place where they're joined. She knows he's watching her watch him slide in and out of her slick heat and from the hand that curls around the front of her body to touch her, it's turning him on. She reaches up to grasp his hair as the spring coils tighter inside her. A few more thrusts and one rough swipe of his finger on her clit and she's screaming his name as she falls over the edge. He's right behind her, groaning in her ear and it takes them a minute to come back to themselves.

When they've had a shower to clean up and they're curled in bed, he slides his hand down her back and kisses the top of her head. "Do you believe I don't want anyone else?"

She tilts her head so she can look at him. There's absolutely no hesitation or question in her voice when she answers, "Yes."

He nods once. "Do you know why I want you?"

She senses there's something else he wants to say, something he's alluding to but not telling her and her eyes narrow in suspicion. "I know why you want my body."

The brief smile that flits across his face tell her that she's said exactly what he'd hoped. "But do you know why I want _you_? Specifically."

She waits patiently, feeling a lump grow in her throat.

"You're gorgeous, yes, and that's a perk, but it's not about who you are on the outside." His fingers come up to stroke her cheek softly, brushing damp tendrils of hair behind her ear. "You're compassionate, sympathetic. You blow me away every day with how you relate to victims and how easily you put suspects in their place. Your mind amazes me, the way it can synthesize facts, find connections, make intuitive leaps… You intrigue me and you treat me like a human being when everyone else treats me like I'm a gift from some higher being. You ground me, Kate, you make sure I don't get out of control and I'd probably go as far as to say there are times where you've been the reason I've come back to my daughter alive and in one piece."

She blinks back tears because this is deep talk and there's a fear eating at the edge of her stomach. But his hand is still stroking her back and his thumb is still brushing her cheek as his fingers tangle in her dark tresses. "Rick-"

"You don't have to say anything, okay? I don't want to pressure you and that wasn't my intention." This is one of those moments where he's proving just how well he knows her and he smiles at her gently. "You were insecure tonight and all I want you to know is that I may look, I may flirt, but what matters to me at the end of the day is that I'm coming home to you. You and Alexis. Because this, right here, is where I want to be."

She knows the tears have flooded her eyes by the way he blurs in front of her and he slides his hand into her hair to tip her head forward. Her forehead rests above his heart as she sucks in a shaky breath. Emotion is crashing around her, but there's one thing there clear as day and when she gets control of herself again she looks back up at him.

"I love you."

Surprise floats over his face first, then awe and absolute joy and she has to move quickly to meet his mouth without twisting either of them into a pretzel. He knows she doesn't say anything like that without meaning it and he's touched, awed, amazed and shocked that she's the one to say it first. He'd been hoping to allude to it, to show her what he felt and tell her he loved her without using the actual words but this… this is so much better.

"God, I love you," he breathes when he pulls back from his enthusiastic kiss. "I love you so much."

He rolls her over and this time it's slow and he murmurs his love into her ear while he's inside her. She makes sure she meets his eyes in the few seconds before her orgasm hits, repeating the words with eyes that are heated, but serious. He pulls her against him afterwards and she feels safe and content there. He loves her for everything she is, for her scars, for her bossy habits, for her control-freak personality… everything and she feels that filling her. It's a good feeling and one she knows she's not walking away from. And for the first time in a long, long time, she's pretty sure the man beneath her isn't walking away either.

* * *

_This is my favourite. Of all of them, I'm pretty sure. _

_I think I'm going to leave this here. So, I'd like to thank you all for the ride, the ups and the downs and most of all the reviews!_


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